Pressed Between Pages (Chronicles of Conversion Part 2)
by Aria2302
Summary: Maggie Thomas was ready to die when she was rescued in a peculiar fashion; whisked away in the night to a horrible place known only as "The Factory". Maggie's choices send the road of her life spinning off-course into treacherous waters as new powers threaten to overwhelm her, and a mysterious political power makes moves against her. [Kurama/OC] Chronicles of Conversion Part 2.
1. A Small Loan

Maggie doesn't want to be seen. She walks among the library's rows, unnoticed. She wants it this way. She has everything planned, but sometimes life has other plans. She's a different kind of mild-mannered librarian, but she didn't want her life to change. [Kurama/OC]

I only own my OC and her family, as well as coworkers, etc. If I owned the YYH Universe I would not be writing FanFiction on a shitty laptop.

This story exists in the same universe as my other story, _Waking Dreams_. You don't have to read that one first (or at all), but you will miss out on the occasional nod to the other story. I exist only to write for you, dear reader, so please take the time to review the chapters, and let me know if you love or hate it!

* * *

I've always loved libraries. My mom was never really enthusiastic about many things, but I could always get whatever I wanted from a library. It was a regular activity for us – every Friday afternoon, after she got off work, we would go to the library, and she would follow me around as I selected my reading for the next week. I learned early on that she wouldn't stop me from leaving the children's section and heading towards more adult themes – war, sickness, politics, and classical fiction. She never encouraged it, nor discouraged. My mother had opinions on almost everything, but never on my reading selection. It's very encouraging for a ten year-old.

I had big dreams for my future, mostly because of all that reading. I saw in those books a beautiful, adventurous world. I wanted to be a Marine Biologist. I wanted to be a firefighter. I wanted to own a horse farm. I wanted to be an astronaut.

Those books were full of real people's secrets, too. Have you ever checked out a book and found someone's grocery list tucked in the last page as a bookmark? I kept those little items in an old tin lunchbox under my bed. They were my treasures – peeks into hidden lives.

At some point I decided - at a very young age, mind you – that I wanted to be a historian. I would get a bachelor's, and a master's, and finally a PhD. I was going to record people's lives before stories were lost to time and memory.

But circumstances change.

I didn't get my bachelor's degree, and didn't apply to graduate school. I got a job at a library working the circulation desk in my last year of high school. It was run by three little old ladies, and one particularly creaky gentleman. They didn't have the energy to get up and down (and up and down and up and down) from the desk to help patrons.

I worked there for a year and a half before I was given an honorary position as a librarian. Most libraries want you to have a Master's in Library Science, but they didn't have the budget for a "real" librarian. And they liked me, which helped.

My days rarely varied, and I liked it that way. I would help someone find a book, shelve a few hundred books, and read another dozen. I didn't want to make an impact on the world around me. I didn't want to make a mark.

I just wanted to fade away, unrecorded and never remembered.

* * *

I think that the opening shift has always been my favorite time of day. There's a peace and power in it. My keys jingled too merrily in my coat pocket, chorused by a rushing autumn wind picking up on the streets. I pulled my coat a little tighter as I quickened my steps, rushing for the warm shelter of the Library.

The front door lock stuck – like it always did – at the half-turn, and I nudged the door with my foot to jiggle it in the doorframe. There was a permanent dent in the wood from where every librarian had nudged the door with their own shoe. It was hard to pull the door against the wind, and I had to strain a little because of my choice of footwear – why had I worn heels today? Oh, right, because I wanted to feel pretty for once.

Once inside I shook off the cold, locking the door behind me. I was early, but I was always early. The other librarians weren't due in for another half-hour at least. I hung up my coat in the little room behind the circulation desk, and pushed the power buttons on the computers as I passed, both humming to life in response. The main bank of lights was next, their heavy switches _clack -_ ing loudly, and bright lights flickering on high above.

I took an easy stroll through the rows of books, only briefly glancing around to make sure that books hadn't been left on the floor or tables by the night shift. Finding everything in relatively good order, I ascended the back stairs, and returned to the circulation desk.

I logged into the computer, checking to see if any inter-library loan books were scheduled to arrive that day, or if requested articles had been sent. Sometimes libraries needed a little prodding to send their works, but it generally got done in a timely fashion.

"Maggie!" I looked up sharply as my name was called across the quiet library floor. My coworker – Mrs. Kimura – was waving enthusiastically from the front door – cheerful to a fault. I waved back timidly. "You look cute today!" She commented as she hung up her coat, as I had done only a few minutes before. "Hot date later?"

I laughed and shook my head – some things just sound strange when uttered by a 65-year old. "You know no one's good enough for my dad." I replied. _Among other reasons_ … I thought to myself.

"Well, those shoes with those pants make your butt look amazing." Yet again, some things just shouldn't be uttered by anyone's grandmother.

"Ah, you've discovered my secret butt plan." I cackled evilly, and Mrs. Kimura burst out laughing. She quickly stifled it – library habit – and started her shuffle to her office behind the stacks.

I greeted the other librarians as they arrived, and exchanged the usual small talk. I considered it to be generally necessary to appease the people around me. Everyone remembers the surly, silent coworker. People don't think much about the generally cheery, but only moderately chatty, coworker.

The circulation desk is a great place to be invisible. I opened the doors on time, and a few people were already waiting outside. If you asked any one of those people what color my hair was, I promise you not a single person would be able to answer.

I checked out maybe twenty books over the course of a few hours. We are not a hugely popular library. We don't have a great selection of movies, especially not anything made after 1982, and no magazines to speak of. We have the daily newspaper available, and a few national and international papers. We do have a spectacular restoration room, but people aren't really interested in that.

The library was pretty quiet when a reserve request popped up on my screen. There was no reason for me to stay chained to the desk, so I tapped 'print', the printer chirping merrily under the counter.

I scanned the Dewey number, and walked downstairs towards the science section. Biology, plant biology… I sighed. Of course, it was on the top shelf, eight feet off the ground. I scanned the rows for a little footstool, shuffling it in position with my foot.

Even with my heels, I was still unfortunately short. I reached for the book – _come on_ , I summoned. I envisioned the book shuffling towards me. No such luck.

My vision swam unexpectedly, and gravity seemed to turn sideways. I teetered on the little footstool, and my ankle twisted out suddenly to the side, and I lost all balance. Time slowed down, and then sped up rapidly as I landed hard on my side. I groaned, rolling over on my back. " _Ow…_ "

I heard light footsteps, and a concerned voice. "Are you alright?" It took me a moment to focus enough to see his face – his rather astonishing hair color focused first.

"Fine, thank you. I just lost my balance." I patted my breastbone awkwardly, realizing my glasses had somehow come unhooked from their chain. Yes, I wore my glasses like a little old librarian on a chain around my neck. They had somehow stayed intact through the fall, and were just lying on the ground next to me.

"That was quite a tumble." He held a hand out to help me up, and I took it gratefully. With surprising strength he all but hauled me to my feet.

"Hazard of the job, it seems." I swept floor lint off my pants, my bracelet jingling merrily. "I haven't seen you in a while." He looked confused. "We've met. You went to Meiou, right? You pretty much owned a study room here for a while." I pointed to his vibrant hair. "It's hard to forget hair like that."

"My apologies, I don't recall." He looked genuinely concerned that he couldn't remember me – more than I expected.

I waved a hand dismissively. "That's alright; I don't remember your name. So we'll call it even." I offered him a small smile. That should have been enough for him to bow slightly and leave me alone, as is the typical gesture.

This particular man, however, stood across from me a moment too long for mere courtesy. He had that look – there's a very particular look – of someone who wants to ask for help finding a book but haven't yet decided they can't find it on their own.

I decided to rescue him from his indecision. "Do you need anything?" I asked gently.

"Could I ask you for assistance? I seem to be having a great deal of trouble locating a book." He tilted his head a little, smiling. It was almost apologetic, and endearing.

I couldn't help but smile."Of course, what's the title?" I gestured for him to follow me back upstairs. My heels clacked loudly on the stairs, and I tried not to wince at the sound.

He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. " _Manual of the Vascular Flora of the Carolinas._ In English, if at all possible." He read as I slipped around the counter of the Circulation desk.

I frowned as I typed it into our search function – I could look forever, but I already knew we didn't have it. "That's an unusual book to find outside out of the United States, given the specificity; you won't find it here – especially not in English." I propped my elbows on the counter, fiddling with a pen.

He nodded, and bowed lightly. "I see. Thank you for your assistance."

He turned so abruptly I had to raise my voice above the usual librarian level. "Wait a second!" He turned back, and I could lower my voice again. "I can check the Interlibrary loan system and see if any libraries will lend us a copy."

"Ah! That would be wonderful, thank you." He smiled again, eyes sparkling a little. One man should not be so charming while saying so little. But I had a computer to focus on, which would help me ignore him, and would make me more invisible.

I felt strangely inclined to chat, though. "While I'm checking – do you mind if I ask why you want it? It's not every day I get an interesting request like this." I wanted to hear a little more of his voice – to confirm that even with that long red hair and strangely refined posture, he had a delightfully masculine voice. He spoke softly, which masked it well, but I've heard a thousand 'hello's and some are just more memorable.

I would later blame my tumble in the stacks for my poor judgement.

His soft voice carried across the desk without him having to lean on the desk, which I appreciated. "A friend of mine asked me to locate it. I'm not sure if it's more for sentimental or educational purposes, really." He smiled bemusedly, and I sensed that there was much more to the story.

A window popped up on my screen before I could ask more prying questions. "Ah! It seems a college in the United States is willing to send us a copy for a few weeks. Your library card?" I held out a hand, and he quickly produced the small piece of plastic. I scanned the barcode, inputting his information in the 'recipient' blocks. I gave him back his card. "Ok – you're all set. It'll take about a week, and you'll get an e-mail when the book arrives."

"Thank you very much for your assistance." He bowed again.

Inspired by some strange, rarely-present muse, I offered him a little smile, and a piece of advice. "If you want to make some librarian's day, tuck a thank-you note or something in the front cover when you return the book, before we ship it back to the States. We never get that sort of thing."

He returned my smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

Mrs. Kimura appeared behind the desk as he left – the woman shuffles along at a positively glacial pace until she sees a cute boy – at which she moves like a ninja. It's insane, truly. "Ooo – he was cute! What's his name?" she asked in a singsong voice.

I glanced at the scan record that I had yet to close out. "Minamino Shuichi."

She smiled appreciatively at his vanishing form through the window– lecherous old woman. "Well let me know when his book comes in – I want another look!"

I closed out the scan record. "You're incorrigible." I sighed.

* * *

"See you tomorrow." I waved to the relieving librarian, before venturing out into the freezing weather.

I felt like I lived in shades of beige. Camel-color coat, tan slacks, white shoes, white blouse, beige scarf, hair tucked up under a white knitted beret. Don't look at me. Don't come too close. Let your eyes glaze over when I speak and forget my name. I am nothing and no one and nobody cares.

I tugged a little at my hair as I pushed it up into the hat. I missed my long hair. It had been long – rich black waves tumbling in wild tides over my shoulders. Now it was… significantly shorter.

The wind whipped around my legs, and threatened to run away with me. _Dance_ , it called, _fly_ , it commanded. I walked on, indifferent to the joy of the wind. I took the long way home – a ten-minute walk, instead of an eight-minute walk. My world was very small.

Unlocking my front door, the wind whipped through, scattering my loose mail. _Bill, bill, junk, bill, junk…_ I picked up the little envelope that always lived on my front counter, and tucked it into a drawer. It was a very nice envelope, linen paper and everything. _"I died today"_ was written on the front. I moved it back and forth from that drawer every day.

My apartment was sparsely furnished. One could call it modern, but I just called it practical. I didn't even own a television. I had a lot of plants, though.

I cooked myself dinner with some light classical music floating from the radio. I ate dinner, did the dishes, and picked a book to read. I sat on my thrift-store sofa, feet tucked under a warm blanket, and read in silence.

Late in the evening I changed, brushed my teeth, watered my plants, and went to bed.

Another day gone.

* * *

A/N: I know it's just the first chapter, but please review! It lets me know that you didn't hate it, first of all, and that I should keep going. Otherwise I want to stick my head under the blankets and never come up again.


	2. Another Day Gone

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ SLAM!

I hate my alarm clock, but it always wakes me up. I live to slap it silly every morning - that's how much I hate it.

I rolled out of bed, feeling only slightly better than a rock. Maybe a slimy rock. Does that still qualify as 'better than a rock'? I didn't have nearly enough coffee within my reach to figure that out. First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet. The thing made far too much noise, and I hated it, but I wore it every day.

Next – always next – came pills and coffee; a yellow pill, a blue-and-white pill, two small round white pills, and another, bigger white pill. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em. Next, be sure to eat something; usually a banana. Bananas are cheap and everyone agrees that they're good for you. Every morning just the same.

Next comes clothes, and check the weather. It had been unseasonably cold for the season, but October going to confuse my poor plants. _October 1…20 degrees C… now that's more like it!_ I left my coat on the hook.

I pulled my _I died today_ letter from its drawer, and left it on the counter.

Off to work.

* * *

October in Japan is quite beautiful. An orange tinge was just starting to linger at the edges of the senses, but when looked at directly you are certain that you were mistaken. – fall couldn't possibly be that close, you reason. Fall waits behind, breathing cool air on the back of your neck when you forget to wear a scarf because _it's not that cold._

But in a ten-minute walk to work, you hardly have time to notice. I hardly noticed – or cared for – the changing of the seasons. I didn't like winter anymore. It was cold, and dark, and solemn. I always dressed like winter now, however. I wore beige, and soft colors. Nothing bright, no high-visibility patterns. Don't look at me. Don't remember me.

I unlocked the front door of the library, and went through my normal morning procedure. It was my few minutes of zen, of _true_ peace. But I was always interrupted by another librarian, or opening the doors for waiting patrons. Never enough peace.

But there were little good moments. It had been a week since I was visited by a young man looking for a strange botanical book – _in English,_ no less, and in the middle of the day the mail arrived. The postman generally carries in a large bin – requested books, Interlibrary loans, and any general post that the librarians have sent directly to their offices. I generally distributed the mail to the correct box, and catalogued the new books, so all the mail just came to the circulation desk.

As such, I got to open the little package from the United States that contained a strange botanical book in English. I didn't do much reading in my native tongue since moving to Japan, but I flipped through the pages. It had older drawings of what I assumed were native plants, and confusingly technical descriptions of said plants. It took me a minute or two to figure out how the book was _supposed_ to be used, but upon that realization, I ducked outside to grab a wildflower from next to the front door. Don't let me tell you how long it took me to remember that wildflowers in Japan and wildflowers in the American Carolinas aren't the same plants.

Yay, me.

I scanned the barcode that comes with the book, and the computer got hard to work sending Mr. Minamino a short email that, _hooray!_ , his book had arrived at our tiny library. In the meantime, I would enjoy being reminded that, when it came to plants, I should stick with the ones in my apartment.

I fitted the book with a rubber-banded spine label, and put it on the shelf behind the desk. Hopefully Mr. Minamino wouldn't take more than a few days to pick up the book. It's personally mortifying to send back an ILL that no one ever came to read. No one ever needs to know, but _you_ know. It's so much worse when they mail it internationally.

So, I hoped.

* * *

There are… freaks, when it comes to libraries and books. I am one of said freaks. These freaks of society jump on email communications from these book temples, positively drooling at the prospect of obtaining rare knowledge. I didn't assume that Mr. Minamino would be one of our little club, considering the book was for someone else, but he proved me quite wrong.

Only a few hours after checking in the book, a certain red-headed patron tapped the little bell on the desk to summon a librarian. I was a few rows deep in the stacks, and poked my head out behind the rows to see if someone was actually asking for help, or if those rotten ten year-olds were at it again. My eyebrows nearly shot into my hair.

I walked quickly back to the desk, still carrying the three books I was supposed to be shelving.

"Hello again! Are you here for your Loan book?" I greeted, at once tapping the keyboard to wake up my computer.

"Yes, thank you." He said with all the courtesy I've come to expect from Japanese men. Had it been an appropriate time to do so, he would have bowed.

I retrieved his book, although I wished he had taken another day or so to come by. I had wanted to look at a few more of the plant drawings. Maybe now I could review it after he returned it, and before we mailed it back to the States.

I was finishing up with what is usually a quick process (I kept typing the wrong date, and needed to keep going back to correct it) when a miracle happened. Or a curse, depending on how you think about it.

My invisibility charm failed.

Librarians are almost inherently transparent – peoples' eyes glaze over when we talk (especially about due dates), and they can never seem to find a librarian when they want to complain about their fines. I – usually dressed in neutral tones of beige and faint coloration – am usually more ghostlike than the average librarian.

But this young man, with his strange red hair and vibrant, sharp green eyes, cut right through me.

He accepted his library card as I handed it back to him, he made small talk. "I imagine you must do a great deal of reading." It was generic small talk – usually I reply with a smile and a short response – but those green eyes cut open the invisibility charm and extracted my sense of humor, somehow.

I chuckled quietly. "Oh, yes. After you've read at least ten books from every section of a library they lock you up in the back until you pledge the librarian's oath of fealty."

Shuichi laughed lightly. I was happy that it was quiet enough I didn't have to shush him. "Do you have any recommendations?" He asked. "Although I would ask you limit your selections – I would rather not swear any oaths today."

I thought for a moment. And then another – I wanted it to be a good one. "If you want to read something both fascinating and intellectually terrifying, _Spillover_ is an interesting book about animal to human transmission of pandemics." I grabbed a piece of scrap paper. "If you're interested, here's the call number."

He took the slip, and I kept talking, trying to really sell the book. "I can only assume that you're scientifically aware. I didn't excel with biology, and I enjoyed it. I imagine you might glean a great deal more."

He stared at the paper with a ridiculous amount of concentration. It would not have been inappropriate for it to catch fire. Although I don't recommend setting fires in libraries. There's a good joke in there somewhere. But as I was trying to think of the joke Shuichi finally spoke again.

"I think I will; thank you." And then he smiled. It was stunning – without the protection of my invisibility charm, I was dazzled. He disappeared to retrieve my selection before I could compose myself. Damn. Why don't more attractive gentlemen hang out in libraries and talk to me about books? I realized he had left his ILL book on the counter, virtually obligating him to return to the desk to retrieve it.

I managed to keep my composure when Shuichi returned with the book in question. I checked out his book, and this time he did remember his ILL book. I smiled cheerily as he thanked me for my recommendation, and left with his books.

I couldn't help but wonder if he had left that book on the counter on purpose, so he _had_ to come back to the desk. But I couldn't fathom _why._

* * *

"See you tomorrow." I bid goodbye to the relieving librarian, and stepped out into the sunshine of late afternoon. It was warm, and that made me happy – small stirrings that it was. I took the long way home and let my hair fluff a little in a breeze.

I passed what used to be my favorite bakery. The smell of chocolate and pastry was drifting in the air, and – on a whim – I went in. I bought a chocolate… something. I don't remember.

I walked out of the store, chocolatey pastry in hand, and took that first bite. It should have been delicious – what part of fresh pastry plus warm chocolate ever equals something other than heaven? But I took that first bite, and it just turned to ashes in my mouth. It was a perfect autumn day. The sun was shining, and I was eating delicious food.

Ashes.

Ashes.

We all fall down.

I threw out the chocolate-filled pastry after the first bite. I walked home quickly, ignoring the tight feeling in my chest. I unlocked my front door with haste, kicking my mail out of the way. I picked up the little envelope that lived on the counter, and tucked it into its drawer. _I died today_ vanished into the darkness.

I cooked myself dinner with light jazz music floating from the radio. I ate dinner, did the dishes, and picked a book to read. I sat on my thrift store sofa, a blanket draped lightly across my legs, and read in silence.

Late in the evening I changed, brushed my teeth, watered my plants, and went to bed.

Another day gone.

* * *

A/N: Hello my lovely readers! Many generous thanks to animechick725, Chibisensei110787, Akara Suzuki, Divine Demonic Assassin, and darkwolf1689 for their reviews!

I'm very excited to be getting going on this next story. It's going to be a wild ride, I promise you. I have an incredible story line planned for you.

Please review! It gives me LIFE!


	3. Queen, Princess

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ SLAM!

I hate my alarm clock.

First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet.

Next –pills and coffee; a yellow pill, a blue-and-white pill, two small round white pills, and the bigger white pill. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em.

Next, a banana.

Every morning just the same.

Next comes clothes, and check the weather.

 _I died today_ came out of its drawer, and I left it on the counter.

Off to work.

Or… maybe not.

I don't really like days off from work. Sure, I have more time to go grocery shopping, or schedule a visit to the doctor (yippee), or get a haircut, but it's such an interruption in my routine. I try to take as few days off as possible – I'm forced by the other librarians to take at least one day a week.

So, at nine or so in the morning, there I am; ready for a day of productivity, only to be saddled with the prospect of… nothing.

But on that note of nothing… I checked my calendar. "Well… shit." I _was_ supposed to see a doctor that day. Scribbled in tight, neat handwriting, was _Oct. 7 – Dr. Fujioka. 8am._

Whoops. I totally didn't do that on purpose.

Maybe.

Okay, I slept in on purpose so I wouldn't have to go to yet another in a long series of disappointing doctors. On that note – has anyone in the universe ever gone to a doctor and been seen at their exact scheduled time? I was – _once._ It's never a good sign when they see you immediately. Other than bad news, they don't particularly care if you're late for work, or dinner, or a bus.

My phone rang – Dad calling.

I answered immediately. "Hi, Daddy." I never got out of the habit of calling my father "Daddy". It may make me sound juvenile, but I think he missed out on too many years of my life – due to choices other than his own – for me to start calling him just 'Dad'.

" _Hi, sweetheart – are you busy tonight? Akemi and I would love if you came over for dinner."_ I cringed internally at the request. My stepmother was an incredibly beautiful woman, and talented in the kitchen – it was easy to see why my father had fallen in love with her. But the woman's head was practically vacant, save for a few recipes rattling around. She spent a lot of time at Shinto shrines, and believed that made her a good person. I sincerely hoped that was true.

"Uh, as a matter of fact I do. Have you been practicing your psychic skills again?"

He laughed. _"You know it. That's why I make the big bucks_."

"What time is dinner?"

" _Six o'clock."_

"Got it, see you then. I love you."

" _Love you too."_

We hung up.

Well, damn. There went my nothing day.

* * *

I went grocery shopping, and bought a new sweater. It was blue. A very light blue. Almost white. I came home and started making a dessert – triple citrus bars. They're freaking delicious and I would eat them even if I had no intestines – they're that good. I knew my father would remind Akemi that I _always_ make a dessert when I come over for dinner, and she would 'forget' and make something anyway. And my dad would always eat what I brought. Eat that.

I checked my watch as shadows started getting long – almost five o'clock. I had to spend about forty minutes on a bus to get to my father's house, so it was about time to leave. I packed up the citrus bars, and slipped on a light coat. I double-checked that _I died today_ was on the counter, and locked the door behind me.

I don't make eye contact on buses. Strange people ride buses. I know because I am one of the many bus people, and if I made eye contact, they might realize how strange I am and make me their queen. It's a dangerous world.

My dad tried to live as close to Yokosuka as he can, without creating an incredibly long bus ride for his only daughter. I wonder if it's a standard habit or retired Seamen to live close to large ships on the water.

My father was stationed in Okinawa when he met my stepmother. He was already divorced at the time, and they fell quickly in love. I would say 'god only knows what he saw in her', but I imagine it was her flawless skin, beautiful smile, and amazing cooking. Men are simple.

But when I knocked on the door – in the _rat a tat tat_ that I always do – he answered the door in his usual, undignified fashion. The door opened with vigor as soon as I finished knocking,

"Hi Princess!" I was swept into a giant bear hug – he is not a small man, nor could his shoulders be called narrow – and I had to hold the bag with my citrus bars far away from my body for fear I would soon be wearing them.

"Hi, Daddy." I hugged him tightly with my free arm. He swept me around, and set me on my feet in the house. Every time.

He fluffed my hair – that I soon fixed – and beckoned me further into their little home. "Are you doing okay on that new drug… what's it called – Zonafin?" He asked, diving straight into the issues.

I handed him the bag with the citrus bars. "Zonegran – it's _fine_ , Daddy."

He vanished into the kitchen to put the bars in the fridge, but raised his voice to keep talking with me. "Because I heard it has some bad side effects." He hollered. I heard Akemi's faint voice telling him not to yell – she must have been in the kitchen, too.

"Well, if I don't take it, the side effects are a lot worse." I yelled back. Akemi didn't bother telling me not to yell.

"What's that – four different things now?" He rubbed his hands together, and I saw suspicious crumbs fall to the floor.

"If we don't mention the vitamins, yes – did you already eat one?" I accused. He flushed – caught.

"Tell me – do you rattle in the mornings?"

"Oh ha ha – _and don't think I don't know you ate dessert before Akemi's dinner_." I whispered the last part as Akemi started carrying plates from the kitchen.

"Is this really something we should joke about?" Akemi asked lightly, setting plates down on the dining table. She was flawlessly graceful, and a vision of beauty: deep midnight hair piled into a casual and effortless bun where not a single hair was out of place; very faint crow's feet around her eyes, just so you knew she wasn't immortal; adorable almond eyes; tiny feet to match her tiny waist; and let's not forget the aromas drifting from the kitchen were truly drool-worthy.

I made a sour face. "We could be serious about it, but that won't help much." I smiled brightly. "Let's eat! I'm starving." I sat quickly in my chair, and grabbed the chopsticks. Maybe if we all had food in our mouths, we could stop talking.

As it turns out, people like to talk between bites at the table.

* * *

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ SLAM!

First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet.

Next –pills and coffee; a yellow pill, a blue-and-white pill, two small round white pills, and the bigger white pill. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em. Next, a banana, then clothes, and check the weather. _Oct. 8 – warm._ Only need a sweater.

 _I died today_ was left on the counter.

Every morning just the same.

* * *

Children can be particularly obnoxious in libraries; especially when they feel they know everything already. Horrible little demons.

I can't leave all the blame with children, though. A great deal of my terrible mood came from my dinner with my step-mother. The woman is as shallow as bathwater. Very attractive bathwater – one of those pleasant ones with an expensive bath-bomb – but shallow all the same. And _boy_ is she concerned about things that are not her problem.

"If you won't tell me then I'll just use Google!" Said the annoying child across the desk. He wanted me to tell him the circumference of the earth in kilometers, not just point him at the book that would tell him all the facts he would need to know.

Finally fed up with this child, I leaned back, and offered a wicked smile. "Google will give you three million answers, or I can give you the _right_ answer."

The child made a very unpleasant face, and then a very unpleasant noise, and then – thank _God_ – left the library. Those things are supposed to be our future? Ugh.

It didn't help my terrible mood that I didn't realize until almost noon that I had yet to pull in the bin from the book drop. It's usually full to bursting by early afternoon if it isn't emptied regularly. I hauled the bin from the book drop over to the counter, and started checking books back in to the system. It was a monotonous task, one better suited to zombies than actual thinking human beings.

I flipped open my hundredth book, and let out a little shriek as a piece of paper dropped out into my lap. I slipped on my little-old-lady chain glasses to see it better. I flipped it over, revealing a carefully scribed message. _Ms. Thomas, thank you for recommending the book; it was quite informative. Sincerely, Minamino Shuichi._

He had left me a note.

Invisible me.

 _Me._

"Love letter?" Nosy Mrs. Kimura and her ninja feet struck again.

"What? No!" I cried, clutching the note to my chest at the same time.

She smiled slyly. "Are you sure? Because you're holding it awfully tight."

I stuck my tongue out like that petulant child, and she laughed.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to Akara Suzuki, Anber, darkwolf1689, jennibearrr, Chibisensei110787, Kuesuno, Divine Demonic Assassin, and Mediocre Dunces for reviewing! I have some very perceptive readers, and I enjoy reading your guesses on what's going on with the plot!

Also – I didn't realize that I am incapable of counting properly to five. Maggie takes five pills, not six. I corrected the previous chapter.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	4. Written Letters

A/N: Hi readers – short chapter today, but I wanted to get it out. Important note at the end of the chapter – be sure to read!

note to crazygirl14324: there are line indicators that I use to indicate the end of paragraphs/lines of thought. They show up in both the web and mobile/reader version.

* * *

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ SLAM!

Every morning just the same.

First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet. Next –yellow, blue-and-white, two white, and another white. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em.

Next, a banana. Next comes clothes, and check the weather. _Oct. 15 – partly cloudy, cool._

I pulled my _I died today_ letter from its drawer, and left it on the counter.

I glanced over at the window, and noticed that my new baby fern was looking a little less green than it should have. I touched the fronds gently, and a leaf fell off. I picked up the pot – hopefully I would be able to find better care instructions in the stacks.

Off to work.

* * *

It had been more than a week since I last saw Shuichi, but of course I had to have my nose deep in one of many _Caring for your New Plant_ books, looking less than botanically inclined, when he cleared his throat from the other side of the desk.

I looked up sharply, with a slightly guilty look – we aren't supposed to keep plants at the desk – their pots tend to leak water all over and that just doesn't mix well with paper. But Shuichi _probably_ wouldn't rat on me, so I smiled broadly and greeted him cheerily. "Hello, Mr. Minamino!"

He corrected me rather quickly. "Shuichi, please. You have a new friend?" He pointed at the evidence of my failure – the poor fern.

I sighed sadly, and pulled the pot across the counter, and the fern dropped a few more leaves in transition. "I'm not sure I'm a great friend, she isn't feeling well and it might be my fault."

Shuichi hid his smile behind a polite hand. "I have a bit of a green thumb, if you don't mind?"

"Please!" I slid the pot across the counter towards him. He accepted it gingerly, and I couldn't help but notice that, as he moved it around, it didn't shed any more leaves. He looked this way and that at the leaves, and took so much time I couldn't possibly hope to know what he was looking for.

"I'm Maggie, by the way." I blurted out, the silence feeling oppressive. Strange, for someone who sits in a silent building all day.

Shuichi's eyes flickered up at me briefly, and he smiled knowingly before going back to the fern. "I know."

I blinked owlishly. "… how?" He pointed at the little nameplate on the desk. _Ms. Maggie Thomas, Circulation Librarian._ "Ah. Yes. That." I nodded dumbly.

Shuichi tapped a finger on the side of the pot. "It's the water." He stated quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" I swear I'm not dumb, I just seem that way in comparison.

Shuichi slid the pot within my reach. "You're watering it too often – put your finger in the soil." I poked the dirt as directed – squishy. "You'll know it doesn't need water if the soil still feels very moist." I nodded, trying to ingrain that into my brain. No more dying plants.

"Is she going to be okay?" I asked hesitantly. _Please don't tell me I murdered a plant…_

He smiled – beamed, almost. "She will be beautifully vibrant in a few days."

I sighed in relief – and then tried to defend my honor. "I swear I'm not a serial killer – of plants, that is. I have a lot at home; many plants – healthy plants!"

"I believe you." He chuckled, valiantly attempting to hide his amusement behind a hand.

I made a comical scowl, and changed the subject. "Now that I've thoroughly convinced you that I can't be trusted with anything green, how can I help you?"

He produced a familiar American book from a bag I hadn't noticed. "I've brought a return."

I scanned it in, and set it aside. "Did you write a note for the US Librarian?" I asked in a conspiratorial fashion.

"I have." He replied – did that sly smile ever fade?

"May I ask what you wrote?" I was desperately curious.

"You could just read it." He responded slowly.

I returned the grin, and retrieved the book from where I had set it aside. The note was tucked in the front cover, just as it had been in the last book he returned. He had written the note in English – flawlessly, not some bad Google translation.

 _Thank you for generously sharing your resources with an international partner. This book provided a valuable example in establishing a new taxonomic guide. I hope your future endeavors and partnerships prove as fruitful as this._

I read it a second time before speaking. "It's perfect, Shuichi; you're going to make some Librarian in America cry." The book disappeared again.

"I promise that was not my intention." He said the words, but his eyes said _I'm lying,_ so I just responded with a knowing "Mmmmmmhmm. What else can I do for you, Shuichi?"

He tapped his fingers idly on the counter – it was the first time I had seen him do anything other than stand stoically. "I was wondering if you might direct me to my next literary adventure?"

I leaned against the counter, fiddling with a pencil. "Are you hoping for a fiction or non-fiction adventure?"

His sly smile broadened before he answered. "Something with well-tended plants, perhaps?"

I resisted the urge to throw my pencil at him. _All right, let's play that game._ "There's a sci-fi novel that's a very short read – I read it when I was younger and loved it – well, loved and hated, for different reasons. _Level 7._ " I scribbled down the call number and tried not to smirk.

* * *

I was positively giddy the next morning. I retrieved the return box very quickly the next morning. I knew Shuichi would have finished the book already – probably no later than three in the afternoon. It's a short book. I hoped he had gotten my joke, and made whatever long or short trip it was for him to come back to the Library and dumped it in the return bin.

I rifled past children's books, and a little bit of garbage (every bin, every day, someone thinks it's a garbage bin), and countless young adult novels, and then…Sure enough, there it was. I took it back to the desk and almost shook it to death. A small slip of paper fluttered out onto the counter.

It was written in English – definitely for me.

It was just one word:

 _Touché._

I giggled. He had gotten my joke. The main character doesn't see any plants _at all_ in that book. It's also an incredibly depressing book. That's what he gets for being a wiseass.

It left me in a great mood for most of the day. I was humming while shelving books and even the snotty kids didn't get on my nerves. I packed up the American book to go back to the college in North Carolina that owned it, and even tucked in my own little note to the library. I won't tell you what it said. It's a librarian joke, you wouldn't get it.

I wish I could have maintained that happy high through the day. But I haven't had a completely happy day… in a long time. My mood was killed when I left work, a book tucked under my arm, and I passed the bakery. I smelled chocolate.

I used to love chocolate. I can't stand the taste now, even though I used to eat it almost every day. It's strange, the associations we form between food and feelings and memory.

I unlocked my front door and swept up my mail in a quick scoop. I picked up the little envelope that lived on the counter, and tucked it into its drawer.

I ordered take-out from a little café down the street. I sat on my thrift store sofa, eating takeout with one hand and holding _Level 7_ in the other. Late in the evening I marked my place with _Touché,_ changed, brushed my teeth, checked the soil on my plants and watered whoever was dry, and went to bed.

Another day gone.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to Akara Suzuki, AkaMizu-chan, animechick725, a Guest, crazygirl14324, and Veill for reviewing!

I know many of you are confused (rightly so) about Maggie's medical condition, so **vote with your review: I reveal next chapter what the deal is, or continue with my original planned timeline. I will yield to the majority.**

 **PLEASE REVIEW – you could swing the vote!**

Not to mention, my favorite reviewers often get private messages with offers of sneak peeks when chapters start to take longer.

And, as an aside, you would not believe the number of times I accidentally write "Kurama" instead of "Shuichi".


	5. Time

A/N: WOW! Thanks so much for all the reviews! The vast majority of you want me to keep my original timeline, so that's the plan! Thanks to Chibisensei110787, Guest, Akara Suzuki, OdisIduna, Kuesuno, Mediocre Dunces, Divine Demonic Assassin,AkaMizu-chan, Veill and SbakuNoGaara426 for reviewing!

* * *

Every so often, I get a day - or in this case, a week - set aside to work in the restoration room. The room in general is one of the most special aspects of our library, just because of how _good_ we are at what we do. The room itself – when seen through the thick UV-shielded observation glass – doesn't look so great. It's a plain room, with a single table and chair, and about a hundred drawers of varying shapes and sizes.

When no one is in the restoration room, it looks like a storage room that time forgot. When we receive a request to restore a book or scroll, however, it becomes a messy catastrophe of skill.

I had been asked to work on this particular work because of the detail required. I technically have the youngest eyes in the library, even though I have to wear glasses. A private owner had requested that we work on his first edition Mark Twain novel – _Huckleberry Finn_ , to be precise.

The owner had a toddler. The book was within reach. Enough said? I was trying to restore terribly torn pages and binding – I could expect to probably spend a month or so fixing the book, and that was optimistic. However, I didn't need to restore the entire book – I was focusing on five or so pages of text.

The majority of the damaged pages had been torn out directly from the binding, but otherwise unharmed. The spine had been dented, but that's no big deal. The part that called for my skills were the five or so pages that had been torn from the binding, and then shredded.

Being the only native English reader and speaker in the library, I had to reassemble the bag of confetti that I had been handed into the puzzle that was a first-edition Twain, and then go through the layering process of building up the torn paper.

The process of repairing torn paper is actually quite fascinating. You use thin strips of an incredibly gauzy Japanese paper called _kozo_ paper, and adhere it with a starch-based paste. One translucent layer at a time, you will glue the strips on until you've reached the appropriate level of repair without ruining the aesthetic of the document.

But before all that, I had to put my puzzle together.

I had already been hunched over the table for the better part of the day. I had almost completely puzzled out page 63, but the bottom right-hand corner was still eluding me.

"Come on, you little shit." I whispered to the confetti pile that was pages 64, 73, 82, and 4. No such luck. I leaned back in my chair, tilting my head from side to side to stretch out a knot that had been developing for the last – I checked the clock – nine hours. I did a double take. _Nine hours?_ Good god.

This was typical – I could go a full day without eating in the restoration room. There was a tap on the thick archival glass, which scared the living daylights out of me. It was the head librarian, tapping her watch angrily. She didn't like it when I stayed far past my shift. I bowed a little apology, and she shuffled off, giving me a last warning look. Soundproof glass is a godsend. If she wanted to come in the restoration room she would need to don gloves, booties, and our terribly attractive white coats. She's lazy, so I'm safe rom verbal rebuke.

I lay a full sheet of _kozo_ over the paper, just to prevent any fly-away pieces going on walkabout when I opened the door. I hung my coat on the hook, and tripped off my gloves and paper booties.

Freedom!

I trotted up the stairs quickly – no heels to _clack-clack_ loudly today – and retrieved my coat and bag form behind the counter.

"See you tomorrow!" I called to the librarians, and ran out the door as fast as I could. Of course I slammed directly into a Patron who had just gotten out the door themselves.

" _Oh!_ ' I cried. "I'm so sorry, excuse me!" I flushed red, terribly mortified. Of course – _Of course_ – I had rammed into Shuichi. I knew it before he turned around, because no one else in the world had hair like that.

He turned, and laughed a little. "Well hello there; where did you come from?" He asked, eyes glittering with mirth.

"Uh, I'm in the restoration room this week – toddler plus old book equals sad owner." I laughed nervously. When had I turned into an idiot?

"I was wondering – I had to get my book recommendation from another librarian." He produced a book that had been tucked under his arm.

I gasped loudly and dramatically. "You _cheated_ on me _? Le gasp! Sacrebleu!_ " I fanned myself daintily, and Shuichi burst out into open laughter. "Since you have impeached on my honor you must at least tell me what they chose for you."

" _The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle."_

"Ah. Well. Let me know what you think." I kept my opinions to myself. I was more of a fan of western literature – there was just something about Japanese writing that tended to elude me. "Well, have a good day, Shuichi." I gave a polite bow.

But Shuichi continued. "Excuse me, Ms. Thomas-"

"Maggie, please." I corrected.

He gave a very small – almost imperceptible sigh. " _Maggie_ , I believe you at least owe me a coffee for the horrific damage you cause to my poor back." He rubbed his lower back with a hand for effect.

I blinked. It was about the only motion I could complete. "Um, I'd love to, but I really can't – I'm sorry." I sort of stammered out my refusal. "I-I-uh, I can't. Sorry." I shifted on my feet, an tried not to make eye contact. "I need to go."

Shuichi's concealed mirth shifted to concern. "Is everything alright?"

I bowed quickly, and started walking quickly. "Yes!" I replied, all the while walking at a speed just short of running. He did not follow. I kept up that pace all the way home, making it there in record time; four minutes.

I unlocked my front door with shaking hands, missing the keyhole several times. I kicked my mail out of the way with fury. I did not touch _I died today_ , and I did not even take off my shoes.

I sat down heavily on my thrift-store sofa, head buried in my hands. I cried for a long time.

I watered the plants that needed it, and went to bed. I did not eat dinner.

Another day gone.

* * *

Puzzles are strangely easier to complete when you're tired; both physically and emotionally. I finished assembling page 63, and two other pages as well. Two more pages to assemble and I would be able to start gluing the _kozo_ strips into place. At least someone would come out of this whole.

I stretched at the end of the day, massaging the knot in my neck. I had managed not to work too far over my regularly scheduled shift, but instead would be leaving right on time. I walked at a measured pace up the stairs – neither hurrying nor dallying. I was empty inside, and oddly appreciative of the peace that provided.

I went behind the desk to retrieve my things, but was stopped by the desk librarian.

"Maggie?" She called into the back.

"Hm?" I responded blandly.

She hopped off her stool to meet me in the back, handing me a folded piece of paper. "I think this is for you – it has your name on it, but I found it in a book in the return bin."

It had my name spelled out in katakana, but as I opened it, the rest of the note was in English – for my eyes only and definitely from Shuichi. "Yeah, it's for me, thanks." I didn't read any more of the inside other than just determine it was English. I stuffed it in my pocket. I put on my coat, and grabbed my purse.

I passed the café on the way home. I needed to find a different route that didn't bring me past there every day. Maybe I would just take the more direct route home, I decided.

I stopped in front of my apartment building. There was a park across the street that I rarely ever visited. I could rarely stand the oppressive sadness that overcame me when I was surrounded by the proof of time passing. Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall; they all go so quickly. Time goes by, slipping through our fingers like smoke, and we find it nearly impossible to grasp even a single moment. We cup it in our hands, watching as it fades away before our eyes.

So I don't go to the park much.

I stared at the reddening leaves for a moment longer, and turned away before that sadness crept out from the branches and found me wanting.

Wanting more time.

There's never enough time.

I don't remember where I read it, but someone said 'You get a lifetime. No more. No less'. Who measures a lifetime? _Who judged my life and found it sufficient?_

And so time passes, and I wait to disappear.

I unlocked my front door without haste, and picked up my mail. I picked up the little envelope that lived on the counter, and tucked it into its drawer. _I died today_ went away. I cooked myself dinner in silence. I ate dinner, did the dishes, and picked a book to read. I sat on my thrift store sofa, and read in silence.

I went to fill my pill sorter, and reached the bottom of the bottles. _Damn, time for refills_. I would have to call Dr. Fujioka in the morning. His office had been calling and calling and calling, and I had been screening their calls. He would want me to come in for a follow up. I didn't want to. I would have to do it anyway.

Late in the evening I changed, brushed my teeth, watered my plants, and went to bed.

Another day gone.

* * *

A/N: A few of you looked up the drug that was mentioned – Zonegran – and found that it is a real medication to treat seizures. That's true, but only a small part of a larger picture! All of the upcoming medical junk is true to fact – I did a ton of research before I wrote a single word of this story. It's insane, really.

PLEASE REVIEW! Your reviews are what makes writing worth it.


	6. Favorite Flowers

A/N: Don't hate me.

* * *

October 21 – Laundry day.

I got up, took the last of my pills – damned empty pill sorter. Count 'em- five – take 'em. I scarfed down a banana as I kicked the laundry basket across the apartment floor.

I had almost forgotten about the note crumpled up in my pants' pocket, until I went about the process of turning my pockets inside-out for the laundry. I considered briefly just throwing it out, but curiosity overcame me.

The note said: _I apologize if I offended you; that was never my intent. Please give me the opportunity to make this up to you._

I crumped it up, and tossed it in the recycle bin. He wasn't the one who needed to apologize; I was a shitty person. He barely knew me, but at this point he had to know that I was just a shitty person.

I shoved laundry into my washer, and punched the buttons furiously. I would switch them to the dryer when I got home that night, whatever. I was angry with myself. I was angry with the world.

I dialed my cell phone with haste – before I forgot, or decided to 'forget'. "Hi, I need refills called in for my medications, please." I asked as soon as someone picked up the phone.

There was the standard _name, date of birth_ exchange, and then a _"We haven't seen you in a month, Ms. Thomas – Dr. Fujioka wants to see you for a follow-up before he signs on to new prescriptions."_

"I understand that, but I'm out of my pills, and if I don't take them tomorrow I'm going to have a seizure before I can see the doctor. I can come in next week, but I need my meds today"

There was a long silence.

" _We'll call in the prescription in the next hour. Is the 28_ _th_ _at 8am a good day for you to come to the office?"_

"Yes, that's fine." I growled.

" _And what prescriptions do you need refilled?"_ the annoying receptionist asked,

"The Zonegran, Prednisone, Temodar, and Afinitor." I recited. There was a sound of a quick keyboard.

" _Okay, you're all set. Anything else I -"_ I hung up, not bothering to reply. Time to go to work. It was an unseasonably warm day – I didn't even need a sweater. I wore a pretty white blouse with big sleeves, and pretty navy blue pants. I wanted to feel pretty today.

* * *

I was in a strange place, mentally. I just wanted to get through the day, and go home, curl up under my blanket, and hide from everyone. Maybe I would make a pillow fort – that would help. I think.

But I was at the library, working, trying to forget the fact that the universe seemed to hate me. It was still early, maybe it would turn into full-on wrath.

I pulled the return bin over to the desk, and grabbed the first book. I opened the back cover to scan the bar code, and yelped in surprise as something fell out. It wasn't a note – it was a pressed flower; a pretty little thing with many tiny white blossoms on a fragile stem. It was gorgeous. I smiled a little. I set it aside, scanned the book into our system, and set it on the shelving cart.

And the strangest thing happened when I reached for the second book. It had a pressed flower in the back page, too. It had big yellow petals, and a stem not nearly strong enough to hold up a head of that size.

The next book had a flower – pink.

And the next - red.

And the _next_.

 _All twenty-three books_ had pressed flowers in the back page, left right below the barcode.

The last book, at the very bottom of the bin, also had a folded note in English.

For me.

From Shuichi.

It read: _What's your favorite flower?_

I sat at the desk, a pile of books on one side, and a spread of pressed flowers on the other. _Wow._ My heart thudded painfully in my chest, and I flushed a deep scarlet. _Oh my._ How in the name of God had he managed to do that?

"Oh my!" Mrs. Kimura cried. "What beautiful flowers! Where did these come from?" She had an incredible talent, the old lady.

"Uh-" I caught a flash of red as it passed by the window, and nearly shrieked. "Can you cover for me?" I hissed to the crotchety old lady.

"Sure – why…?" I didn't answer her question, just shot into the back room – thankfully windowless and not visible to the public – right as Shuichi walked in the front door.

I could hear his quiet voice as he spoke with Mrs Kimura. I needed to turn down the volume on my tell-tale heart to hear his gentle voice at all. "Excuse me, is Ms. Thomas working today?"

I could _hear_ the sly smile in her voice. That old bat loves romantic dramas, and this must have just been too sweet for her. "Maggie? She just- uh – stepped out, I'm afraid."

There was a pause. It was a painful pause. Why was there such a long pause? Shuichi finally spoke; "I see, thank you for your assistance."

 _You're being ridiculous_ , my brain chided. I wrung my hands, and fiddled with the hem of my blouse. _No I'm not – stop bothering me!_ I retorted.

I heard the front door swing open – he had left. Too late.

"You're being ridiculous!" Had my inner voice grown a body? No, it was Mrs. Kimura, coming to the back room to chastise me. "A handsome man is asking for you and you're hiding in a closet!"

"But-" I stammered.

She smacked my arm with the back of her hand. "No buts! Go fix this you addle-headed girl!" And she shoved me out of that room with much more strength than I thought she was capable of summoning.

I walked very quickly to the front door – running isn't dignified indoors – and I maintained my pattern of running straight into Shuichi's back. He turned, his face a portrait of surprise.

"Um, hello." I greeted timidly.

He stared at me for a moment, apparently processing my presence. "I thought you had stepped out?"

I made a nervous sound. "Well, if stepping out includes hiding in the back room then…"

"Ms. Thomas-" Shuichi started, and I interrupted.

"Maggie." I corrected.

"Maggie, I sincerely apologize if I-" I interrupted his apology, dragging the conversation in my desired direction.

"How did you do that thing with the flowers?" I blurted out.

Shuichi stopped trying to apologize, and echoed my question. "Flowers?"

I nodded. "There were pressed flowers in every book returned today."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Is that so?" He said slowly.

I nodded again. "And you asked what my favorite flower is."

"And?" He asked, expectantly.

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. "Ask me again later. At the café up the street. After work? Like, five o' clock?"

His smile grew a little wider. "That sounds agreeable. I will meet you there."

"Okay then." I smiled, still blushing a little. "I'm going back inside now." I turned on my heel, running back into my silent sanctum before he could notice that my blush was approaching the color of a rare steak.

* * *

I couldn't focus at work. I think I checked in the same book about five times. I might have done that with every book that was returned during the day. I dusted a table for five minutes straight. I vacuumed a back carpet until it was nearly threadbare. I tripped over my own feet in my haste to get my last few assignments done.

I was excited. I was ridiculously excited. I stared at the clock and willed the second hand to go faster.

I practically flew out the door when the end of my shift rolled around. Then I had to remind myself that running isn't dignified, and walked swiftly down the sidewalk instead. I was getting flushed from the pace.

The café got closer – I could see the baby blue awning, and the wide glass window. I could see a flash of bright red hair seated at one of the little tables inside. I froze, ten yards or so away. Was this really a good idea? I had been obsessing all day, but I needed to stop and think – to take my poorly functioning brain and beat it against a wall, more like.

I walked a little closer, shuffling in place outside the café. I could go on one date, right? Was this actually a date? Just two people, meeting late in the afternoon, sharing a table at a café.

Nothing wrong with that. Perfectly normal.

I pushed the door open, jingling the little bell. Shuichi's eyes glanced my way, and he waved me over.

"Hi." I greeted, sliding into my chair. I shucked my coat, and draped it behind me.

He smiled – he did that a lot. "Hello. I took the liberty of ordering us a pot of tea."

"Oh - what kind?" I liked tea – it didn't disagree with me the way most café beverages tended to do.

"Elderberry and dandelion." He replied, drumming his fingers on the table.

"That… sounds amazing." I offered a meek smile.

We sat in an awkward silence for a moment. I don't know how people are supposed to act on a date – was this a date? What do people say? I had never been on any kind of date before. I just didn't think I had the time…

Shuichi saved me, though. "So, what _is_ your favorite flower?" He asked.

I propped my elbows on the table, and sighed. "I'm a simple girl – I like Lily of the Valley."

"That's a highly poisonous plant." Shuichi commented, and I was surprised that he knew that off of the top of his head.

"But gosh it just smells so sweet." I grinned. "In the language of flowers it means 'the return of happiness'. I just love that."

Our tea arrived, rescuing us from further commentary on the tedium of my life and preferences. It switched instead to what a heathen I am for being incapable of drinking my tea without sweetener.

* * *

We chatted for what felt like only twenty minutes, but turned out to be about two hours. I know that because I checked my watch, and did a triple-take. Shuichi did the same, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Oh my – I'm afraid I need to leave."

"No worries – I should get home, too." Then my voice went on a wild ride without consulting my brain, and asked "See you tomorrow?"

Shuichi looked a little surprised, but smiled and nodded. My heart exploded. "Here, or at the library?" he asked.

"Um, here. Same time?" That stupid voice again, not consulting with my brain. But when he agreed, those gorgeous green eyes focused entirely on mine, I couldn't help but be happy.

If I were a skipping kind of girl, I would have skipped the whole way home. But my balance sucks and if I did that I surely would have fallen on my face. So I hummed instead; something cheery, and uplifting.

I unlocked my front door without haste, ignoring my mail for a little bit. _I died today_ vanished into the darkness of its respective drawer. I cooked myself dinner with bright classical music floating from the radio. I ate dinner, did the dishes, and picked a book to read. I sat on my thrift store sofa, a blanket draped lightly across my legs, and read while the music continued to play.

Late in the evening I changed, brushed my teeth, watered my plants, and went to bed, a smile still plastered on my face.

* * *

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ SLAM!

First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet. Next –pills and coffee; coffee and – _shit._ My pill sorter was empty. My bottles were, too. _Shit. Shit shit_. _Shit shit shit!_

I started hyperventilating. "Okay, this is okay. I forgot to pick up my meds yesterday." I checked my watch – the pharmacy wouldn't be open until I was already at work. "Okay, no big deal, I can pick them up on my way home today. One dose is no big deal." I nodded repeatedly, trying to reassure myself. I ate my banana, and grabbed a light jacket on the way out.

All nervousness aside, I was a giddy schoolgirl during my shift. I smiled a lot, and made jokes. I chatted with the Patrons, and volunteered for the boring tasks. I was a little disappointed that none of the books I checked in had notes or flowers tucked in them, but a girl can't expect to be spoiled like that.

I walked down the sidewalk after work with all the expedience I had practiced the day before. I could see that Shuichi was waiting for me, except I didn't freeze this time. I nearly ran to the café, except that I didn't. That would be undignified.

"Hi." I slid into the seat across from him. "Am I ever going to be allowed to arrive first?"

"Why?" He asked, at the exact moment our tea arrived.

"Nevermind. What's the flavor today?" I smiled widely.

"Lemon and ginger." He answered, his face still confused.

"Sounds delicious." I replied. It took me a moment to notice that there was a little bud vase on the table. There hadn't been a vase on the table yesterday, and there was a vase today. It had Lily of the Valley in it; one small sprig – just enough to put off a light perfume.

"Did you-" I cut off the question, and Shuichi hid a smile behind his teacup.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

* * *

We talked for a long time, but this time I remembered to leave before the pharmacy closed. Shuichi promised to swing by the library in a few days to plan our next outing together. It gave me a strange delight to think about that – _together_. I had a friend, first and foremost. I could chat with someone, and laugh, and just… _be happy._ It was strange, and new, and _wonderful._

I didn't think that I was going to have the time to be happy. I didn't think that I would be able to come out from under the dark cloud of my illness. I didn't think I could be happy.

But I was trying. I could let myself _try_.

I left the café, swinging by the pharmacy. I wasn't going to forget _again._ It did serve to remind me how ridiculously expensive it is to be ill in almost any country. My meds are _expensive_. I shoved the bag in my purse and headed for home. I felt a strange trembling in my whole body that I just chalked up to the adrenaline from my wonderful second – _second –_ date. It was colder than I had expected outside, and wished I had brought a scarf. The cold sensation blew against my skin, making it crawl a little.

I trotted up the stairs to my apartment, and even though it was cold, I was sweating, why was I sweating? Must be those nerves again, I reasoned. I unlocked my front door with haste, kicking my mail out of the way. _I died today_ vanished into the darkness of its drawer.

I cooked myself dinner – a nice spaghetti- humming softly to myself. I ate dinner, but not very much - I had an odd, metallic taste in my mouth. I sniffed the spoon, wondering if I hadn't cleaned it thoroughly. It didn't smell off, but that didn't reassure me.

I cleaned the kitchen, dancing around a little. I had to stop because I was having a hard time catching my breath. That was new.

 _What's wrong with me?_ I wondered. I sat down heavily on my sofa, and grabbed the book I had started the day before. I was still feeling a little off when I felt like a sudden jolt of electricity shoot from my feet to the top of my head.

I tried to stand, reaching for my phone on the kitchen counter. I felt myself collapsing, even as I unsuccessfully tried to make my arms or legs to work.

My head smacked against the floor.

Black.

* * *

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!

Many thanks to all of my reviewers from the last chapter: Catharina M, tyedyeoreo1015, AkaMizu-chan, Moon-on-a-string, Divine Demonic Assassin, Rasne, Chibisensei110787, MickeyISrawd, and Akara Suzuki


	7. Tired

I woke up on a floor smeared with blood sometime after the seizure. I didn't check the clock, so I can't say for certain. The world outside my window was fairly dark, so it was late. Or early, depending on your definition of time.

I was drop-dead exhausted. It took me a while to work up the energy to move at all. I ended up kind of rolling over so I could use my sofa as a crutch. My limbs were weak and shaky. I felt oddly… fuzzy. It felt like television static had been injected into my body.

I briefly considered calling an ambulance. That meant a hospital stay, and doctors, and tests, and more questions. Nah. It wasn't worth it. _Ma'am, we regret to inform you that you're dying,_ would be the general theme of what would undoubtedly be a 24-hour stay, at least. Nah.

I managed to shuffle my way to the bathroom, to get a look at myself in the mirror. The front of my shirt was stained with blood. I touched my face and hissed in pain – I had bitten my lip pretty severely.

My face had a pretty bruise developing along the right side of my jaw. I was a little pleased that was all that was visible. I splashed a little water on my face, and blood splattered into the sink. Delightful.

I shuffled my way to my bedroom, groaning as I tried to pull off clothes. My right arm screamed as I stretched, promising more bruises on that side. I ended up not bothering to take off any more clothes – I just slept in my work pants and no shirt. Whatever.

I was just too tired.

* * *

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ tap.

I groaned in discomfort, just trying to sit up without crying. First – always first – I clipped on my med-alert bracelet.

Next –pills and coffee; a yellow pill, a blue-and-white pill, two small round white pills, and another, bigger white pill. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em.

Next, a banana.

Every morning just the same.

I spent the extra time on my makeup – covering the bruise on my jaw, and concealing the bit lip with a deep plum lipstick. If someone looked closely, they might see it. I would also have to remember not to smile, or I would bleed all over my shirt by re-opening the lip.

Next came clothes, and check the weather. _October 23, cold._ Good, I had an excuse to wear a thick black turtleneck sweater. More covered bruises.

I pulled my _I died today_ letter from its drawer, and left it on the counter. I lingered for a moment, considering if it might be time to re-write the letter. It was at least six months old… I hadn't actually read the thing since I wrote it. I remembered the general instructions, but not the emotional specifics. _Hm._

Later. When I had more energy. I took a slow breath, leaning on the counter. I could do this. I could go to work, and be a real human being.

Off to work.

I got to the bottom of the stairs outside my apartment before I had to take a break. I leaned against the wall, and almost fell asleep. I was going to need a lot more coffee to get through the day.

I had to take three more breaks on my way to work – I honestly felt like I had accidentally swallowed an entire bottle of Nyquil. I briefly considered taking a nap on the sidewalk.

Mrs. Kimura was waiting for me at the front door when I shuffled up. She looked at me with grave concern as I unlocked the door. "Are you feeling alright?"

I nodded slowly. "I think I caught the flu; all three strains at once, maybe."

The little old lady instantly covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve. "Then you should be at home!"

I shook my head even slower than I had nodded. "Nah. I've got work." I shuffled inside, and hit the lights, and slowly went through my morning routine. I did this while ignoring conspicuous looks from Mrs. Kimura. I could get through today. I could. Maybe.

* * *

I felt so great! I walked swiftly through the stacks, jumping on and off of the little stools to put away books on high shelves, and easily sweeping down to a crouch to put things on the bottom shelves. I was a whirling dervish of energy, and even the head librarian offered a congratulatory nod at my efficacy.

"Maggie?" I snapped back to reality as someone gently shook my shoulder. There was an imprint of the keyboard on my arm, and my brain felt a little fuzzy.

"Hunh?" I blinked slowly, lifting my head from the counter. "Did I fall asleep?"

I fell asleep, and had a dream about doing _work_? That's the worst. Why couldn't I dream about hot, scantily-clad men serving me alcoholic drinks?

"Here's your coat, and your bag – you're going home. Now." Mrs. Kimura draped my coat over my shoulders, and held me by the arm to make sure I at least made it to the door. "Don't come in until the 26th. I don't want to see your face – and you had _better_ be resting."

"No, I'm okay, really." I protested weakly, even as we got closer to the door.

She pursed her lips in that way that only someone's grandmother can. "That is nonsense and you know it. We'll be fine here without you for a few days. Now get going!" She pushed me gently out the door.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to get home. I won't even tell you the number of times I _actually_ fell asleep standing upright in the middle of the sidewalk. But I did make it home. I did wash my face before collapsing into bed. No one needs a clown face plastered on their pillow.

I was miserable.

Of course it had to happen like this. Of _course_ it did. I wanted to be happy, and was willing to try – even if it could only last a little while. So of _course_ my brain said 'hey, you want to be happy? Let me remind you that you're actively dying.'

I just wanted to give up. Maybe I already had given up – just lying on the bed like a wet noodle.

I had been living with this for a year and a half.

I was just waiting to die.

I slept for a long time. It was dark when I woke up – my stomach woke me, demanding to be fed. Not bothering with actual physical labor, I just ordered takeout.

"I need a shower." That meant getting up; an extraordinary feat by itself.

I turned on the shower, and leaned against the counter while I waited for the water to heat up. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like a mess – bruised face, cut lip, and just overall sense of lethargy lingering on the edges of my person. But that's seizures for you.

I knew that the scariest evidence of my illness hid out of sight. Surgery had left me with a nasty scar running up the back of my neck and disappearing into my hair. I never wore shirts without a collar. People tend not to ask questions about scars when you're strangers, but as they get to know you, the awkward questions come out. I didn't want to share.

The saddest part about brain surgery, I think, is when they cut off your hair. Long luscious locks and open brain surgery don't mix well, apparently. I had loved my hair – it was part of what made me feel feminine and pretty. I battled a lot with trying to summon feelings of self-worth, and femininity.

Long hair is such a symbol of maidenhood in culture today. My hair just brushes the underside of my jaw, and developed an almost curly wave after having all of the length chopped off. I hid from the world for a few months after surgery to let my peach fuzz grow into a respectable pixie cut, and no one asked any questions. They fawned over the adorable haircut, and the world went on.

I did save a lot on shampoo and conditioner, I reasoned, as I stepped into the hot water. I had it set at almost scalding – exactly the way I liked it.

I fell asleep briefly, and when I woke up the water was running cold. Good – it matched how I felt inside. Cold. Dead. Waiting to die, at least.

Still around, though.

For now.

* * *

A/N: I got many absolutely amazing responses to the last chapter. Kudos to those of you who pieced out the specifics of Maggie's illness.

I think you all have also noticed that chapters will start to take more than a day to be posted. I don't have any chapters pre-written, so I have to come up with all of this from scratch every time I start a chapter.

I did cut out a little of the planned end of this chapter so I could get it to you guys sooner!

Thanks to Akara Suzuki, Anber, Candyfiendnomnom, Catharina M, darkwolf1689, usumaki raven, The Story Teller Sentinel, Chibisensei110787, SilverDragonsTail, Divine Demonic Assassin, AkaMizu-chan, tyedyeoreo1015, xenocanaan, Moon-on-a-string, UzumakiSeiryl, and a guest for reviewing!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	8. Forward

I was grateful that – for once – I managed to heal fairly quickly over my forced three-day vacation. The bruise on my face had turned a sickly yellow, but that is easily hidden under normal foundation. The bite mark in my lip had sealed nicely, although I knew I couldn't smile too widely yet.

I had more energy when I went back to work – coffee was finally making a dent in my energy level, and the fuzziness had left my joints. I was okay. Remembering to take your meds helps, too.

I sat at the desk, idly drumming my fingers on the counter. I was oddly jittery – and making little mistakes. It took me a few tries to get the date stamps correct on books being checked out – _Oct 25, no 26._

I both expected, and was surprised, when Shuichi strolled into the library in late afternoon. He carried no flowers, or books; his hands were neatly tucked into the pockets of his navy pea coat.

"Hello, Maggie." He greeted, polite as always.

"Hi." I replied with a small smile.

"Mrs. Kimura told me you were ill." He said plainly, with a small grin.

I raised an eyebrow; that little grin said so much.. "Oh? What else did she tell you?"

"Your phone number, home address, and favorite tea."

I let my head hit the counter. "Why. Why would she do that."

He chuckled a little. "She recommended that I bring you flowers and soup and tea to aid in your recovery. However, I felt it might be forward of me to just show up at your apartment."

I sighed deeply, and resisted the urge to strange the little grandmother librarian. "And a little creepy." I added.

"And that." He laughed quietly.

We stood in awkward silence for a moment, and – as it seemed to have a habit of doing lately – my mouth got away with me. "Did you miss me?" I asked.

His grin shifted from amused to dramatically melancholy. "I haven't had anything decent to read in days."

"Well, we should fix that; come on, then." I jumped off my little chair, and gestured for Shuichi to follow me. We went down to the stacks. "I could drown you in books, you know." I claimed, handing him three in swift succession as I passed the appropriate shelves.

"Well, just in case, it would be safest to leave with a few." He replied. "Should you fall ill again, I might die from lack of literature."

"Say it's not so!" I cried, faking a brief swoon. I stood on one of our little step-stools to reach a high shelf, and felt my ankle wobble in complaint.

"Careful." Shuichi cautioned, placing a steady hand on my lower back. His hand was warm through my blouse.

"Thank you. Here – take this before something bad happens!" I stammered a little, and added the book in question to the top of his stack.

He maintained his amused smile as I added a few more books to his stack, until it was a nice variety of science, classical literature, and modern world history. As we made our way back to the circulation desk, and I worked on checking out the books, I tried to formulate a polite, but firm way to tell Shuichi that I couldn't see him anymore.

My seizure had been an extremely unpleasant reminder of the illness I tried hard to forget. _You're going to die soon_ , it had whispered to me, _don't get attached._

I slid the stack of books across the desk, hands keeping the stack steady on either side. _Here goes_.

Before I could speak, Shuichi laid his hands over mine – so gently they barely touched at all. "When can I see you again?" He asked quietly. It was so forward – so direct – that my plan went completely out the window. His hands were very warm, and I could feel callouses on his hands brushing against my soft knuckles.

"Tomorrow?" I replied.

His hands slid from mine, gripping the stack of books and sliding it the rest of the way across the counter. I felt a little chill.

He smiled, and nodded. "Then I will see you tomorrow."

* * *

By some miracle of life, I actually got off work _early_ the next day.

I let out a wicked little cackle as I walked to the café – I was going to beat Shuichi there, and this time _I_ could order the tea! I don't know why that felt like such a big victory. Don't ask.

But I was also kind of _really_ early. I snagged a table by the window, and pulled a book out of my purse. Yes, I always have a book in my purse.

This was a little side-research for another librarian. She was working on a paper regarding the differences in Japanese mythology as written over time. Basically, she thinks that even mythology is subject to the "telephone game" of time. It's definitely true, but she wants more examples. This is how we come to me sitting in a café, reading a book of Japanese mythology with a stack of post-its on the table.

I was completely absorbed in what I was reading. I think this is a typical curse for anyone who considers themselves to be an avid reader. I read at a pretty good pace, and can forget to eat, sleep, or bathe when going through a book.

Another issue, though, is that I can't really hear the world around me when I sink into a good book. Noises, smells, monkeys walking on the sidewalk; I'm not aware of any of it. It makes for a wonderful reading experience, but allows for too many startled moments.

"You have interest in traditional Japanese myths?" I nearly jumped out of my skin when Shuichi spoke over my shoulder. It couldn't have been an accident that – he was leaning so close – his hair brushed my shoulder.

I snapped the book shut, leaning forward to place it on the table. "Embarrassing, but yes."

"Might I ask why?" He asked, sliding into the seat across from me

I might have had a smug grin, as I asked "What do you think Librarians do all day, hmm?"

"I confess I do not know." He replied, also thanking the server as she arrived with our tea.

"It's ginger and pear - we do research, and write papers – just like any other scientific field. I'm helping another librarian with their paper, and that means I get to do some more reading of my own."

"I love mythology. All around the world, there is spectacular beauty, and history, and important morals. It's all about a world just as cruel as our own, but everything happens for a reason – you are kind to the right person, and are rewarded, or are cruel and thus punished. You can beat any curse with hard work and a potion. Or bribe the right demon." I laughed to myself. Shuichi didn't, but I kept talking, not noticing.

"For example; a brief reading from your favorite librarian." I cleared my throat dramatically. " _Kitsune keep their promises and strive to repay any favor. Occasionally a kitsune attaches itself to a person or household, where they can cause all sorts of mischief. Other kitsune use their magic for the benefit of their companion or hosts as long as the human beings treat them with respect."_

I smiled amusedly to myself, snapping the book shut with some decisiveness. "You see, it's-" I was stopped instantly by the peculiar look on my friend's face. "Shuichi?" I asked tentatively. He looked positively ill – pale, and sweating. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm quite alright, thank you." He replied swiftly. "Would you excuse me? I just remembered I have a prior commitment this evening." He stood quickly, and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, vanishing out the door in the space of a moment.

I sat, mystified, at the café table, the fresh pot of tea steaming on the table.

 _What did I say?_

* * *

I hate doctors' offices. If I could go the rest of my short life without ever stepping into another office, I would happily trade a month or two of good health for that peace of mind.

I used to love chocolate. There was a time I would have been happy to bathe every meal in the stuff. A long time ago, after a series of doctor visits, I was sitting in this office. I didn't really understand the implications, but my Dad was very nervous. The big, burly man had been pacing around the room, waiting for yet another doctor to walk through the door.

I had been happily munching on my breakfast – a chocolate croissant.

I used to love chocolate.

Dr. Fujioka had come to the appointment right on-time. He pulled out my MRI, and pointed out my tumor.

The taste of chocolate turned to ash in my mouth.

I used to love chocolate.

So I hate doctors.

Dr. Fujioka was running late, as he is 99% of the time. I drummed my fingers on the patient side of the little desk in the exam room. I hadn't bothered bringing a book or other entertainment. I wanted my irritation and impatience to be evident every time I visited. I didn't want there to be any confusion about how much I hated to be there.

Forty-five minutes late, there was the swift knock and instant opening of the door that heralded my doctor's arrival. "Good morning, Ms. Thomas – how are you feeling?" He greeted, walking in and sitting down in his chair without looking at me. He already had my chart open, and was reading the nurses' notes.

I did not return the greeting. "Well, I'm still dying, so not much is new."

He nodded, as if that mean something good. "You're tolerating the regimen? No side effects? Seizures?"

I shrugged. "Nothing to tell I'm just lucky that way I guess."

He nodded again. "I know you're not interested in any more surgeries, or chemo, but I wanted to talk to you about a new option. There's a trial that's showing great progress with a variety of brain cancers." He was shuffling through papers, not really looking at me. "They have a 72% five-year survival rate, even with those tumors considered to be fatal. It's quite amazing, actually."

"How does it work?" I asked, more attentive.

He shrugged, finally making true eye contact – hello there! "They're very secretive, but my understanding is that it's a new compound that targets tumor cells."

I sighed. "I really… no. I can't."

He grabbed a referral sheet. "Just take the information – in case you change your mind." He left it on the desk. "It was good to see you, Ms. Thomas. You can pick up your new prescription sheets from reception on your way out."

Another whirlwind appointment; no surprises there. But there was the trial. The referral sheet sat on the table, just waiting for me to feel some stirring of hope and pick it up.

I wanted to leave it on the desk.

But I didn't.

* * *

A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers! I wanted to let you know that several of the major plot points have been worked out, and I expect to be able to start in on the REAL plot very soon. Muahahahahhaaaaa.

I know the story can feel a little choppy, but keep in mind that this is still very much a "getting to know you" part of the story – we're getting to know Maggie, and her developing friendship/relationship with Shuichi. The real juicy parts of the story are _just_ about to be introduced, so there's so much more to come.

Thanks to Akara Suzuki, AkaMizu-chan, tyedyeoreo1015, xenocanaan, Ari, Divine Demonic Assassin, Chibisensei110787, Kuesuno, Candyfiendnomnom, SilverDragonsTail, UzumakiSeiryl, and Guest

PLEASE REVIEW!


	9. Decisions, Decisions

A/N: Don't everyone have a heart attack all at once. Chapter may be squee-worthy.

* * *

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ SLAM! First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet.

Next –pills and coffee; a yellow pill, a blue-and-white pill, two small round white pills, and another, bigger white pill. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em.

Next, a banana.

Every morning just the same.

Next comes clothes, and check the weather. October 29th – cold, foggy.

I pulled my _I died today_ letter from its drawer, and left it on the counter.

Off to work.

The library felt like a fishbowl, with those fogged glass sides. I couldn't see more than a few feet out the windows – just vague shapes looming in the thick fog. I felt murky on the inside, too. I was full of confusion, roiling and churning like thick smoke in a strong wind. I had decisions to make, and none of them were simple or without consequences.

Consequences, intended or otherwise, haunt me. The consequences, say, of hiding your terminal cancer from your friends. The consequences, say, of dating while dying. The consequences, say, of forgetting to take a pill.

Consequences haunt me.

My choices and possible decisions existed in a muddled cloud in my head, and were in no way clarified by the appearance of Shuichi at the front desk. I managed to miss his approach entirely – maybe due to the fog, and maybe due to his determination that I not escape from talking to him.

I looked up from the book I was reading – still Japanese mythology – to see an apologetic face. "Maggie, I need to apologize for leaving so abruptly the other day." He did look sorry – even offered me a little daisy. I would love to know where he found such fresh flowers in late fall. I don't think he was buying them one at a time from a florist – who does that? – but I couldn't imagine where he would pick them around the library.

I accepted the daisy, tucking it behind my ear. I'm sure it stood out in stark contrast to my brown-black hair. "It's fine – I was honestly more worried about _you_."

He clapped his palms together pleadingly, and I swear his green eyes approached bambi-sized as he made himself look more pathetic in an attempt to appease me. "Please, you must allow me to make it up to you."

I can't believe it worked on me. I sighed, smiling a little."How?"

He laughed sheepishly. "I was hoping you might give me a hint."

I tapped my pencil on the desk a few times, trying to think. "Well, let me think about it and get back to you."

He nodded, and grabbed a piece of scrap paper, scribbling something quickly. He slid it across the counter. "Here is my cell phone number. Call me when you decide what method of torture is most appropriate."

I picked it up, folded it, and tucked it into my pocket. "I will." I promised.

Consequences haunt me. The consequences, say, of accepting a phone number from a handsome man.

* * *

I sat at my table for a long time that night, mulling over choices, and actions, and consequences. Always consequences. I grabbed my cell phone, mashing a few buttons before I lost my nerve.

" _Hi, Princess – is something wrong? Are you okay?"_ I felt a little of the stress roll form my shoulders when my father picked up the phone.

"Hi Daddy; no, no – everything's fine. I.. uh, I just needed to talk to you about something." I picked at a loose splinter on the underside of the table. It's also possible that those splinters tended to exist _because_ of my constant fiddling under the table.

My dad chuckled, seeming to already understand my hesitation. _"Well… what's up? Akemi's making some new dish, so stall – please."_

I laughed shortly. Akemi's cooking was top-notch when she had mastered a recipe. Getting to that level of mastery was sometimes a little shaky. "Daddy… I met a boy – well, a man."

" _Oh really!"_ He sounded excited – as much as any father with only one daughter can be. My father didn't want me to be alone forever, even if he wasn't sure if anyone could ever be good enough.

I nodded to myself, and slouched over, resting my chin directly on the table. "I don't know what to do about… well, talking about my brain."

" _Hm."_ Came my dad's grunt reply.

"I think… I like him… maybe… I don't know." I groaned, my head starting to hurt.

" _How did you meet him?"_ He asked.

"At the library – of course. He needed help finding a book. And then he kept coming back for books… and he would leave me notes in the return bin… and flowers pressed in the pages." I sighed a little. "He's sweet."

" _What does he do?"_ He asked, as all dads do.

"He works for his stepfather's company, and I think he must have a little greenhouse somewhere, or work part-time at a nursery or something. He's always got flowers, even this late in the year."

There was a brief silence. _"So what's the problem?"_

I bit my lip. "It… it's a big deal, Daddy. I don't want anyone's pity, and I definitely don't want them telling me how I should be managing my illness. But…" I sighed for the hundredth time. "It's not _right_ … _not_ to tell him _._ "

" _Your co-workers don't know."_ He reminded me steadily.

"That's different." I retorted.

" _Sure."_ He drawled sarcastically.

"So… what do you think?" I asked hesitantly.

I could almost hear his shrug through the phone. _"It's not up to me. You're an adult – as you so often remind me."_

"You're so helpful." I mumbled.

" _Aren't I?"_ He chirped brightly. " _Anyway, Akemi's almost done, so I should get off the phone."_

"Thanks, Daddy." I said earnestly.

I heard the smile in his voice. _"Anytime, Princess."_ And he hung up. I did consider telling him about the medical trial. Really – I'm not a terrible daughter; I just didn't want to get his hopes up.

I had to make a decision.

But… the consequences haunted me.

I drummed my fingers on the table, staring at my cell phone like it would suddenly sprout fangs and lunge at me. Evil little thing. I drummed my fingers on the table, and picked at the splinters on the underside of the table.

I hate making decisions. Why can't life just _happen_ , without the burden of decisions and consequences? Why can't we just live our lives, without the forethought of grief? Why do we have to be aware of the suffering we can inflict on the world around us?

But I digress.

I stopped picking at my poor table, and picked up the phone, and retrieved the little slip of paper from my pocket. I dialed, but hesitated over that little green button for a second too long.

 _Make a decision._ I chided myself.

 _Go._

It rang for so long I thought it might go to voicemail, then – _"Moshi moshi."_

I almost swallowed my tongue. "Shuichi, it's Maggie Thomas – I've figured out how you can make it up to me."

There was a brief silence, and then - _"And that is?"_

Now I _wanted_ to swallow my tongue. Oh god, what if he didn't really like me? What if I was imagining things? Could someone die of humiliation faster than a brain tumor can kill them?

I finally got it out. "Dinner. At my apartment. I'm going to cook, but you still have to eat it."

I seemed to stun him, but he soon chuckled.. _"Absolutely. When?"_

"Uh – tomorrow?" I ran through a quick grocery list in my head "Is eight o'clock okay?" He already knew my address, thanks to Mrs. Kimura – nosy ninja that she is – so I could skip that part.

" _Sounds perfect. What can I bring?"_ Ever courteous gentleman, that Shuichi.

"Nothing. You are completely at my mercy." I smiled, and I imagine that he did as well.

" _Be kind."_ He laughed audibly, and we hung up.

 _Here goes nothing._

* * *

I checked and re-checked the apartment, triple-checking that my _I died today_ was hidden in my bedroom, and that there was nothing incriminating in the bathroom. I put on a little light jazz to help ease any awkward silences.

 _Oh god, what am I doing, oh god oh god I've lost my mind._

There was a knock at the door. I stopped in the middle of my living room like a frightened deer.

 _Here goes nothing – or, everything._

I opened the door with a bright smile. "Hello! You're _exactly_ on time."

My smile was returned – with a little chagrin. "Good evening. Forgive me; I couldn't come empty-handed." He held out a bouquet and a bottle of sake.

I faked a scowl, and waggled a finger at him. "Your torture will be adjusted accordingly – come on in." I put Shuichi's bouquet in a vase I retrieved from a cabinet, and went to fill the vase with water. "Dinner's not quite ready yet – I'm just waiting on the oven timer. Have a seat anywhere."

I jumped a little when he appeared next to me – he was as much of a ninja as Mrs. Kimura.

"Where are you hiding your glasses?" He held up the sake bottle.

"Top right cabinet." I gestured with my head.

He waggled a taunting finger at me. "Ah – before you drink, I must ensure you are of legal age."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "It's rude to ask a lady's age, you know. My license is in my wallet on the counter – go ahead and check." I heard the little zipper on my wallet, and I swear I could hear his confusion. _Oh, right_ , I thought. I flicked off the water, so as not to overfill the vase.

I turned to set the vase on the kitchen island, and locked eyes with Shuichi. "Maggie… is this a fake license?" He asked hesitantly, holding my license in one hand.

I smiled knowingly, setting down the vase with a faint _clack_. "My name _is_ actually Sunshine Magnolia Thomas. That is what is listed on my birth certificate." I leaned against the counter. "My mom was… a hippie, to put it mildly. My dad preferred Magnolia – for the big magnolia tree in our yard, but it got bumped to middle name because he was deployed when I was born, and my mom was mad that he was gone."

The oven timer went off, effectively rescuing me from any comment on my birth name. If Shuichi was amused by my story, he hid it well. As I went to answer the call of the oven, Shuichi returned my license to my wallet.

Oven mitts, oven, baking sheet. Wonderful smells flooded the apartment as I retrieved the pan – honey-sesame salmon, twice-baked potatoes and withered green beans soaked in garlic butter. There are foods, and there are _foods._ I am of the opinion that eating should always be a pleasurable experience, mostly because you never know how many meals you have left to enjoy.

"Dinner is served!" I called, plating the food.

"Sake is on the table; can I help carry anything?" Shuichi asked at my elbow.

"Only because you might explode if I don't allow you to be a gentleman." I replied, handing him his plate. He accepted it with a smile, and a nod.

We retreated to the table to consume my delicious food. I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow of the meal. Just assume that there was the typical compliments with regards to food, atmosphere, and general appearance of both myself and my apartment. As a gentleman, I would have expected no less from Shuichi. But we did switch from general courteous conversation to more personal and personable topics. Shuichi skillfully represented himself as an excellent listener; asking me questions about me, although occasionally I would get to stab a question at him, like:

"My turn – your hair; I've _got_ to know." I asked, leaning across the table, glass of sake tilting dangerously in one hand.

"This is my natural color." Shuichi laughed lightly, raising his own glass to hide a sly grin.

"No way." I declared. He was forced to defend that statement for more than a few minutes.

We sat at the table long after the little meal was over. He agreed to stay for cocoa as we moved from the table to my little thrift-store sofa. Shuichi was ridiculously charming – he loved to talk about his family, I discovered, and it was a great way to get him talking. It was hard for me to stop laughing when I learned that he and his step-brother had the same name.

I begged him to tell me how he produced fresh wildflowers so late in the season, but he just shook his head and let a little smile slip over his cocoa.

It got late, but I didn't want to stop talking. I wanted to keep talking about little things, about getting-to-know-you. I wanted this little perfect moment to end. But I knew I needed to be the one to kill it. I drew my feet up underneath my on the sofa, trying to comfort myself. Instead, I just felt small, and insecure.

Shuichi seemed to notice my discomfort. "Is something wrong?" He asked, eyes already full of concern.

"Shuichi…I'm really not good at this." I sighed.

"At what?" He asked, leaning closer on the sofa.

"Shuichi – you don't know anything about me." The words sounded more dramatic than I had originally intended. It made me sound so dark and mysterious.

Shuichi, if he was perturbed by that level of… drama, replied in the sweetest fashion. He set down his mug on my little coffee table, and took my free hand in his. He rubbed my knuckles with his calloused thumb, just staring down at my hand. "I've learned more about you from every book you give me to read. I know you're funny, and intelligent, mischievous… and a little sad. I know that your favorite flower is Lily of the Valley. I know that you don't eat chocolate. I know that you avoid wearing your glasses whenever possible, even though you always have them with you." He finally looked up at me. "And I know you're a little sad, all the time. But I don't know why."

It took considerable effort to pull my hand out of his. _Please don't freak out,_ I wished silently.

I took a deep, slightly shaky, breath. "I didn't always need glasses. When I was younger my vision was fantastic. In my final year of high school, I started having trouble seeing the board in class. I moved to the front of class, and forgot about it." I stroked the side of my empty mug, staring down at the little residue of chocolate at the bottom.

I continued. "My vision got worse, though. I had trouble reading street signs when I was driving, so my dad sent me to an Optometrist, who sent me to an Opthamologist, who sent me to a Neurologist… who sent me to an Oncologist."

I sighed, tilting my head to one side slightly. "That chain went really quickly. I barely had time to process what they were telling me before someone wanted to cut into my head."

I couldn't look at Shuichi. I felt like I was just talking to myself, with some added feeling. "I have brain cancer. It's an Anaplastic astrocytoma, to be precise. I had a 23.6% chance of survival over five years if surgery and radiation therapy was successful at removing the tumor. Funny thing, though – this type of tumor puts out little tentacles as it grows, making it incredibly difficult to remove during surgery." I smiled bitterly. "Since my diagnosis, I have wasted one and a half years of my life. Almost two, now. I don't expect I'll make it another year."

I lifted my gaze, and shook my wrist until the bracelet chain jingled merrily. "This is my alert bracelet – it's pretty subtle. I wear it for the seizures – and the number tells the unlucky hospital that I am a 'do not resuscitate'. I don't have a lot of time left."

I finally looked at Shuichi. His face was completely unreadable –devoid of the pity, or grief, or anger, or any of the usual emotions I was used to seeing on people's faces when I told them my diagnosis.

I offered a tired smile. "I've accepted that I'm going to die, and soon. If we're going to continue to be friends – or whatever- I need to know that you're not going to shove your good intentions under my fingernails."

He was silent, his face grim. His eyes were cold – I didn't know green eyes could be that cold. I was searching for some familiar emotion that I could latch on to, but there was nothing. I knew there were feelings under there, but he was more skilled than any person I had ever known at concealing them.

"Shuichi?" I asked hesitantly. He was silent, and his gaze flickered around my face. "I understand if it's too much for you – it's a lot to dump on somebody." I said quietly. I got up to put the mugs in the sink, retrieving Shuichi's from the coffee table.

I couldn't describe the pain of the lump that formed in my throat. I braced my arms against the lip of the sink and tried hard not to cry. _It'll be okay_ , I repeated to myself. _This isn't the end of the world._

I was startled as arms appeared on either side of me, trapping me against the counter. I could feel Shuichi's presence behind me, and warm breath tickled the back of my neck. "I will respect your wishes," he whispered.

My heart surged and I sighed lightly in relief. One of those arms released me, and a gentle hand brushed my hair away at the nape of my neck. Shuichi just barely tugged down on my collar, and I fidgeted. I knew that would expose my scar – it's not a pretty sight.

"It's alright." Shuichi whispered, and I could feel his lips – very gently – press against the back of my neck, right on my scar.

"When will I see you again?"

* * *

I woke up late, not bothering with an alarm. First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet.

Next –pills and coffee; a yellow pill, a blue-and-white pill, two small round white pills, and another, bigger white pill. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em. Next, a banana. Every morning just the same. Next came clothes – simple lounge clothes, I wasn't planning on going anywhere.

I sat at my table, staring at the referral sheet while I sipped my coffee. It was my day off, so I could spend a lot of time staring. It was a large, glaring decision in my life.

It was the decision _of_ my life.

I could decide to throw out the referral sheet, and never think of it again. I would be dead within the year, maybe even within the month. No one needed to know.

Or, I could call them. I could fill out a lot of paperwork, and I could try the trial. I could try to _live._ If I _wanted_ to live, I had a chance. But I had to decide to want it again. I had to give up all the progress I had made in accepting my fate, and feel the strange sensation of _hope_ again.

I had to _want_ it.

What did I want? The back of my neck burned hot with the memory of Shuichi's kiss. It had ended with that one little moment – we didn't suddenly fall into a passionate embrace, and he didn't stay the night. It had been one tender moment that had touched me to the core.

I wanted more moments like that.

I wanted _more._

I _wanted_ something.

Had I changed my mind?

 _You have to want it._

"Hi, my name is Magnolia Thomas, and I have a referral for your medical trial?"

* * *

I know you might think that this means the plot is moving too quickly, but please bear in mind that this is just getting started. Maggie has a long road ahead of her, and she is _just_ arriving at the starting line.

Thanks to Akara Suzuki, Candyfiendnomnom, AkaMizu-chan, OdisIduna, Divine Demonic Assassin, Chibisensei110787, versailles214, Moon-on-a-string, UzumakiSeiryl, tyedyeoreo1015, UzumakiRaven, Guest, Tsuki Kitsune Moon Fox, Sweet Sprinks, and SilverDragonsTail for reviewing!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	10. The Road Not Chosen

A/N: I never seem to learn that, in a chapter that begins with tedium and ends with adventure, to write the tedium first. Sigh.

* * *

Any new doctor's office will always give you an insane amount of paperwork to fill out pretty much the moment you walk in the door. There are predictable forms asking for medical history, and an endless series of releases to retrieve documents from other doctors. They will ask for your insurance, and then they'll ask again, and then you'll have to release them from the possibility of lawsuit if they accidentally kill you. Then you agree that your family won't sue if the drugs you take kill you.

I was shown around the Dove Center – I met some of the patients, and toured an empty boarding room. They showed me the sterile treatment room, and the boisterous common room. Everyone seemed happy.

Those are the expected parts – it's all a part of marketing the 'product' that is the medical center.

There are unexpected parts, though. I asked why the center needed boarding rooms – were some of the patients so sick that they couldn't travel anymore?

The receptionist looked at me with a confused gaze. "Didn't your doctor tell you? This is a residential program – you'll check in for a week at a time over a few months while we administer the treatment. Is that going to be a problem?"

I sort of shook my head numbly. I had already committed to doing this – filled out ten thousand forms, and walked around the facility. Checking in for a week here and there wouldn't be so terrible – right? Everyone seemed happy, grateful, and working their way towards healthier living.

So I agreed, and scheduled a check-in date.

"See you tomorrow morning, Ms. Thomas!" The receptionist waved cheerily as I walked out their sliding glass doors.

Tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow._

It seemed so fast. Did anything happen this fast, really? I had to call the Library. I had to pack. I had to talk to my father. I had to… I texted Shuichi _Meet me at cafe? Need to talk – important._

I leaned against the bus window, my forehead buzzing a little on the glass. I felt a little warm – excitement, apprehension, anxiety, I wasn't sure. It wasn't a long bus ride, but I almost missed my stop anyways.

Life moves so swiftly while we daydream away. You can lose so much time – days, months, maybe even years. I lose time while I go through little motions – like making tea, or packing a bag. I packed up pretty quickly – I don't tend to bring much on trips anyway. All you need is a couple of changes of clothes, general toiletries, and meds, meds, and more meds. Huzzah for meds.

Duffel – check. Call work and tell them I'm gone for a week – check. Call family… _maybe later_ , I thought to myself. I lingered still on that idea of giving my family false hope. I didn't want to burden them with even the faintest possibility until I knew for certain that it had worked. If it didn't, they need not ever know I had attempted it.

My phone buzzed angrily in my pocket – Shuichi was already waiting for me at the café, and I had managed to already make myself late with further daydreaming. I skipped quickly down the stairs of my complex, trotting down the street to make up lost time.

Shuichi was already drinking tea at our usual table when I arrived. I was sort of unsure how to greet Shuichi. It felt dismissive to just slide into the chair across from him, but too familiar of me to sit right next to him. Did I kiss in greeting? My skim flushed hot, and my palms got sweaty.

Shuichi rescued me – he set an empty teacup in front of the seat across from him. "Is everything alright?" He asked, pouring tea for me. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants legs before I picked up the tea cup.

I made a nervous little giggle. "So… I'm going to sound like a serious flip-flopper, but I'm starting a medical trial tomorrow at the Dove Center for Neural Health." I sipped the scalding tea, burning my tongue a little.

He looked tremendously surprised. It didn't help that just the other day I had told him I had all but given up. He seemed to find his voice after a few attempts. "Is it safe?"

It was an unusual sort of response, and his concern touched me. "As far as a medical trial can be, I suppose. They've shown very promising results so far."

Kurama nodded in understanding, and stirred his tea absently. "What sort of treatment is it?"

I shrugged. "I'm not really medically inclined, so they could explain it and I _still_ wouldn't explain." I laughed a little. "It's the best chance I have, really."

"What made you change your mind?" He asked quietly. He seemed a little hurt, for reasons I couldn't identify.

I bit my lip, thinking about how best to answer. "It was a, uh, moment of clarity. I think." I sighed. "I don't really know. I just did." I couldn't tell him that such a tiny moment with him had made all the difference. I flushed a little at just the thought of it. No way. "Can I ask you for a favor?" I asked hesitantly.

"Name it." He said, with certain authority.

I pulled my spare key from my pocket, and tossed it to him. I was a little surprised when he caught it with ease – small target and all. "Would you water my plants for the week? I have to check in while they administer treatment, blah blah blah." I smiled, hoping it would put him at ease. He still seemed somewhat distressed. "There's nothing to worry about. My plants, on the other hand…"

He finally broke a little smile, and pocketed my key in his breast pocket. "I'll take care of them."

We idled in small talk for a little while, before I excused myself from the café. "Sorry to rush away, Shuichi. I tend to get a little caught up with you, and I have to make sure to get my beauty rest tonight."

He stood when I did, and I stepped around the little table. "I'll be back in a week." I lifted up to my tip toes, and gave him a swift peck on the lips. I flushed red, and he looked surprised. I cleared my throat, trying to focus on something other than my sudden flush of bravery. "I'll text you when I'm settled. And it's only a week. You couldn't possibly forget all about me in a week." I smiled, and his surprise morphed into an expression of reverent delight. His vibrant eyes twinkled with mirth, and he chuckled lightly.

"Of course. I couldn't possibly forget you." He promised, and my heart fluttered in response.

* * *

 _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-_ SLAM! First – always first – I clipped on my bracelet.

Next –pills and coffee; a yellow pill, a blue-and-white pill, two small round white pills, and another, bigger white pill. Count 'em – _five_ – take 'em. I packed the pill sorter into my duffel, as well as the pill bottles to refill it – just in case.

Next, a banana. Next comes clothes, and check the weather. November 2nd - still fairly warm, considering. I could get away with a light sweater and a scarf.

I pulled my _I died today_ letter from its drawer, and left it on the counter – _wait, on second thought …_ Shuichi would be coming through the apartment to water my plants. He didn't need to read it.

I tucked it back in its drawer.

 _To whom it may concern,_

 _I died today. You should feel no distress, as this was an anticipated event. I had a lethal brain tumor. No, you are not at fault. No, there's nothing you could have done. No, the world did not end today._

 _Please inform my father of my passing. He will inform my workplace, and my landlord. I would prefer to be buried with my mother in the United States. My father has the information necessary, but do not allow the funeral home to cremate me. I wish to be buried under the Magnolia tree. My father will know the one._

 _You are welcome to anything in the fridge. Please enjoy some tea, and water the plants._

 _Best,_

 _Ms. S. Magnolia Thomas_

* * *

I walked through the doors at the Dove Center, duffel slung over my shoulder. The same over-excited and bubbly receptionist greeted me. I signed another thousand pieces of paper. They ran another round of tests as soon as I finished the paperwork – they repeated my MRI, and took a lot of blood.

They started new tests – a neurodevelopmental battery, and psychological profile. I almost expected them to start asking me what _movies_ I liked. They were so thorough, I imagine they had a perfect idea of what my brain looked like, flaws and holes and all.

Everyone seemed cheerful – the nurses, the receptionist, and the other patients I ran into in the halls. I was assigned a room – fairly private, at the end of the hall with a pretty view of a tree. I met my hall-mates and fellow patients when meals were served in the common room– all happy people, just grateful to be there.

I excused myself from the _extremely_ exciting evening activities of chess and checkers, choosing instead to return to my little room. I started my first dose of whatever this 'magic drug' was supposed to be, and I was already exhausted from the day's tests. I wanted to be in top condition – my body needed all the help it could get.

I settled into my bed – it was pretty comfortable. The air in my room felt thick – overly humid or something. I associated my drowsiness with the excitement of the day. I slipped easily to sleep.

I dreamt I was in a boat, drifting slowly down a river. I hadn't been rafting since I was a little girl, but I could almost feel the sun on my face, and the cool water lapping at my feet. The river sounded different – louder than I remembered. It whistled like a rushing wind, but I couldn't feel a breeze.

Such a strange dream.

* * *

I woke up with a headache in a room that definitely wasn't the Dove Center.

The walls were rough stone or broken concrete. I was on a woven mat on the floor - not even a bed. I had a toilet, and a bucket. There were no windows, only a bare bulb hanging from a high ceiling. A heavy steel door was the only exit – it looked rusted, and heavy, and had some kind of hinged flap near the floor, as well as one at eye level.

I scrambled over to the door, pulling at it wherever I could. " _Hey!_ " I banged on the heavy steel door, bruising my hand in the process. The steel slot on the top slid open swiftly, and I gasped in harsh surprise. The eyes that stared back at me were yellow, and were slit like a snake. The skin on its face was deep red, and scaled.

I scrambled backwards, falling hard onto my woven mat-bed. My heart surged and I broke into an instant flop sweat. I pressed my back against the concrete wall, and tried to force myself back even further. It scraped against my back but that didn't stop me from shoving myself backwards with all my might.

The face on the other side of the door shifted a little, and I could hear heavy feet smacking on the concrete floor outside my door. It spoke with a slight slur to its words – speaking around too many teeth in a wide mouth. "Be silent, little human. I am hungry and you are weak." Its voice hissed savagely, even though he seemed pleased with my fear.

"Wh-where am I?!" I cried, hysteria making my voice tremble.

I could see a mouth too wide and full of needle-thin teeth smile fiendishly. "Welcome to the Factory."

* * *

And now our story really begins.

Thanks to TiaKay, OfficerShadowcat, SilverDragonsTail, Tsuki Kistune Moon Fox, Candyfiendnomnom, Anber, Chibisensei110787, Aly Goode, Sweet Sprinks, Mediocre Dunces, versailles214, Akara Suzuki, AkaMizu-chan, Divine Demonic Assassin, angelbott, UzumakiSeiryl, and UzumakiRaven for reviewing!

It took 24 chapters of Waking Dreams to pop over 100 reviews, but this time we did it in NINE. _I love you guys!_

PLEASE REVIEW!


	11. The Factory

I didn't move from that spot on that little woven mat, pressed up against the concrete wall, until forced to do so. The strange, red-scaled, yellow-eyed guard returned for me a few hours later.

 _Oh god, oh god, am I hallucinating? Please let this be some freaky side effect of an amazing cancer-killing medication._ I thought as the door creaked. It opened the door to my cell, and stood in the doorway, and I guessed that – whatever it was – it was male, just due to the chest and bulging muscles. To my horror, he was much more fearsome that I had imagined. He was a huge monstrous creature – cords of muscle outlined on every limb. His arms were too long – knuckles almost dragging on the ground, and fingers of equal horror. He had a long, winding, whip-like tail descending from the base of his spine. It was almost as long as I was tall, and it swayed from side to side lazily behind him, the tip flicking idly in the air.

My breath caught in my throat, and I swear my eyes were bugging out of my face. I gasped for air, settling into what was sure to be a full-fledged panic attack.

The red-snake-man stood in the doorway, and crossed those impossibly large arms. "You can get up, or I can force you to get up."

I didn't move, and he took a step towards me. I scrambled to my feet almost instantly.

Fear is a powerful motivator.

I'm no hero, and I'm definitely not brave, by any definition.

I didn't want him any closer to me than absolutely necessary. "Better." He smirked. "Follow me." He took a step backwards into the hall, and gestured with one of those impossibly long fingers for me to follow.

I followed after a moment's hesitation – I didn't want him to take one step in my direction, which he surely would if I didn't go soon. The hall outside my little cell was more of the same – bare concrete and a line of bare bulbs leading down a long hallway. There were many, many more steel doors. My head snapped around as I swear I heard screaming from far behind me.

The red snake-man sensed my hesitation, and turned. "Human, do you want that to be you? Move faster." I scurried to follow.

The hallway went on seemingly forever, past a hundred or so steel doors identical to my own, before we came to the largest of them all. Through the huge steel door – big enough for an elephant – the aesthetic suddenly changed – we were in a large, sterile white room, with a few glass cabinets with mystery medications in jars, preserved specimens, and surgical tools on trays.

I followed tall, red, and scaly to a wood table at the back of the room, and he pointed to one of the two metal chairs on either end of the table.

"Sit." He ordered.

I sat.

"Don't move." He snarled. I shook my head, silently promising not to move. He left the huge room, closing the door behind him with a _bang!_ I glanced around fervently, hoping to find another door, or window, or maybe even a weapon. No such luck; everything was kept in cabinets with large locks, and there were no other egress points in the room. I could feel the panic attack from earlier creeping along my skin, and giving me the shakes. I tried to tamp it down as much as I could – I needed my poor brain to focus on the insanity of what I was seeing, and not on freaking out.

I had gone to sleep in the Dove Center – a wonderful, healing place full of happy people like me – and woken up in what seemed like a literal prison guarded by a monster.

It made no sense!

Swift footsteps sounded from the hall, and a green-skinned figure – much smaller than tall, red, and scaly – entered through the huge steel door. He wore the familiar white of a lab coat, and was reading something on a clipboard. The red-snake-man followed behind him, and shut the door. He stood right next to the exit, like a club bouncer, and crossed those long arms.

It was such a familiar scene – except for his green skin, and spiky things protruding from his skull that vaguely resembled an Iguana's frills. The more I stared, the more he looked like a walking, talking Iguana-man.

He took a seat in the chair across from me, and smiled. "Good morning. I am Dr. Yureli, your guard is called Garado, and this is the third Factory of the Demon World." That seemed to have some significance I couldn't understand. I trembled like a leaf in the metal chair. There were straps on the chair, but I wasn't restrained. It felt like a threat hanging over my head, but without being used.

He noticed my glance, and my shaking, and tried to reassure me. "No one will restrain you, my dear. You couldn't possibly hurt us, so there's no point. I must say we pride ourselves on our civility here – you are fortunate, my dear. If you choose to resist your treatments, then you _will_ be restrained. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

That seemed to please him, and he scribbled something on his clipboard. "Excellent. You will be locked in your cell at night. This is for your own protection. The doors to the outside are not locked, but you should not open them. Your little human lungs can't stand the air, and you will die within minutes." My head was buzzing with confusion, and my stomach churned with bile. I wanted to vomit, and scream, and bash my head against a wall.

"Do you have any questions?" He asked with a gentle smile. He behaved so similarly to any normal doctor I had ever met. Only he looked at me like someone's timid pet at its first visit to the vet.

I wet my lips, and tried to quell my shaking for just a moment. "Wh-what am I doing here?"

He chuckled lightly. "If all goes well, we're going to make you into a very expensive piece of property. Good help is so hard to find, no? As it is, since demons were recently forbidden from eating humans, where we previously sold them for food, we now provide a new kind of servant to the elite."

"…servant?" I repeated, the pitch of my voice rising.

He nodded, tapping his pen on his clipboard in an intensely familiar type of action. "Mmm, more like slave, really. We convert humans to low-level demons – just enough that you can breathe the air." He waved his pen hand in the air casually, as if dismissing something insignificant. "What is your name, little bird?" He asked, reaching a hand into the pocket of his white lab coat.

"Wh-why?" I asked hesitantly, getting a little of my shakiness under control.

"For your collar, my dear." He produced a solid steel – or iron, I couldn't be certain – collar.

My shaking returned, and the sour feeling strengthened in the pit of my stomach. "…Hana." I said after a moment.

"I beg your pardon; little _flower_ , not little bird." He used one long claw on his little hands to carve directly into the steel. It screeched horribly, and I flinched, covering my ears with my hands. He had impeccable handwriting, producing clear kanji for _Hana_.

"Come here, little flower." I didn't approach, and he sighed in exasperation. "Come here, or I will force you, and then break your left hand afterwards. Do you really want that?" I shook my head vigorously, and he smiled gently. "See? So come closer."

He clapped it around my neck, and I felt the horrible weight sink onto my collar bone. It was cold, and the edges hadn't been rounded very well. I tried not to squirm under the new cold weight, frightened that it might instantly cut into me.

"Alright, Hana. Today we'll be doing some basic quality control checks. I'm sure our supplier checked you out thoroughly before sending you, but we just need to be certain. Tomorrow, you'll get your transplant, and be well on your way to being useful." Dr. Yureli snapped his fingers, and Garado opened the heavy steel door again.

"For your comfort, we do have a female assistant for the quality control tests." Dr. Yureli explained as a tiny female entered the room. She was dressed in the same lab coat as he was, but her skin was a delicate shade of lavender, and not scaled. She had sweet blue eyes, and deep navy hair twisted in a simple bun.

Dr. Yureli rose from his seat, and exchanged a brief nod with the little woman. She offered a timid little smile, and giggled timidly into the back of her hand. He passed the clipboard to the little woman. "Mei is going to take care of you, Hana. Take care!" Dr. Yureli called, waving casually over his shoulder, not bothering to glance at me as he left.

Nurse Mei, or whatever she was, flicked through the papers on the clipboard, and produced her own pen from a pocket. She glanced at me, scribbled something on the paper, and set the clipboard on the table. "Disrobe, please." She asked, picking up a bin from the floor and setting it on the table.

"Um, is he staying?" I asked, pointing at the guard by the door.

The nurse glanced back at Garado. "Of course."

I crossed my arms protectively over my chest. "No." I declared, with more conviction and courage than I actually felt. I had to draw the line somewhere, and getting naked seemed like a good place to stand my ground.

Fast as a thought, the tiny little nurse whipped me across the face with a slap so hard it knocked me clean over. Her eyes flashed with the promise of violence, and a strange feral gleam. "How dare you!" She roared. She drew back one of those thin, delicate limbs and kicked me harshly right in the stomach. It felt like I got hit by a freight train.

I coughed and tried desperately to suck in air. It came in like a wheeze, and flew out again when she kicked me another time. I was a vessel of pain and agony; fire filled my stomach and spread to my back and chest. Was I dying? I had never been hurt like that?

She calmed a little after beating me, and that tiny little smile returned. The nurse knelt in front of me, head cocked slightly to one side. "Will you comply?" She asked gently.

I nodded, unable to breathe strongly enough to reply. The nurse hauled me to my feet. "Disrobe." She commanded again. "Leave your garments in the bin; you won't need them." She stared at me with those gentle eyes, and I shivered. I was tempted to turn around, but I didn't want my back to either of them.

The room was cold. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, and crossed my legs a little. I have never felt so exposed as I did at that moment. Nurse Mei walked around me with that clipboard, asking me questions like _hat languages can you speak, read, and write? Any markings? Tattoos? Are you proficient in mathematics, music, or art?_ She poked and prodded at my skin as she asked, taking measurements of my arms and waist, and using a pen light to examine my eyes and mouth. The questions generally seemed okay, until she asked; "Is your virginity intact?"

I blinked, and the innocuous way she asked it made me shudder. "No." I replied.

"Pity. It's so hard to find virgins these days. They sell so much better." She shrugged, and scribbled on her clipboard. "Alright – Garado will take you back to your cell now. We are finished for the day." She handed me a thin cotton shift dress that just barely covered the essentials, and I slipped it on quickly.

She waved me off, still scribbling down notes in her paperwork. I was forced to walk towards Garado – approaching the epitome of terror and violence, it seemed. He opened the huge steel door, and we walked out together.

It was a different sensation to walk down the concrete hall barefoot. It was colder than I remembered. I felt small, and tried to pull down the hem of the shift to cover more of my legs. It barely came down to mid-thigh. It resembled a medical gown more than actual clothing, though thankfully it was closed in back.

The walk back to my cell was shorter than the walk to the sterile room, somehow. Same distance, but self-consciousness and shame speeds up time, it seems. Garado opened the door for me, and I scuttled inside, eager to put some distance between us.

The snake man grinned toothily, and closed the door more slowly than was really necessary. "Sleep tight, human." He chuckled.

And I was alone.

I tucked myself in that same corner of the cell, sitting on my woven mat, and had a good cry.

* * *

Thanks to TiaKay, Chibisensei110787, Akara Suzuki, Candyfiendnomnom, angelbott, AkaMizu-chan, Anber, SilverDragonsTail, OfficerShadowcat, Moon-on-a-string, versailles214, ShesAnAngelInDisguise/UzumakiSeiryl, tyedyeoreo1015, Sweet Sprinks, Divine Demonic Assassin, and sadisticbribri for reviewing!

I greatly enjoy reading all of your speculations about what things mean, and who knows what, etc. Some of you are _spot on_ , like _instantly!_ Others are way in left field, but make me laugh nonetheless.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	12. Chinmoku's Silence

I lay as still as possible on my mat. I wanted to sleep forever, but fear and anxiety had kept me from sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time. I would wake up from a brief sleep shaking uncontrollably. I wanted a sheet to hide under – wrap myself up like a little burrito and hide from the monsters under my bed.

I heard the overnight lock disengage, which seemed to indicate I was free to walk around the Factory, but I was still wary. I waited a good hour after I heard the lock disengage before I ventured a tentative push. It opened easily.

I slipped out into the cool air of the hallway, moving slowly on the cold floors. My little cotton shift hardly seemed to be enough to keep me warm, and I was right in that respect.

I spotted a few tentative faces peering out from their own cells. No one seemed particularly eager to wander around, though I didn't know why.

There were more than a hundred doors, but only twenty or so looked occupied. A few more colorfully-skinned creatures were wandering around, but no one seemed to pay me any mind.

I came to a large door at the end of a long hallway with no doors. I pressed my ear to the chilly metal, and I swore I could almost hear the generic sounds of nature from outside. I reached for the door handle, biting my lip. I had been cautioned about going outside…

"I wouldn't do that." I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone spoke behind me. I whirled in place, back pressed up firmly against the door, heart beating a million miles an hour.

My sudden guest was a female, about my size, but she looked… ethereal. She had long, ancient white-gray hair that tumbled loose down her back, and deep, deep black eyes. She looked maybe even younger than me in her features, but her skin was so pale and papery that I could see her veins running underneath.

She wasn't dressed like the doctor or Nurse Mei – she more what more closely could be called scrubs, in a color grey that complemented her hair.

She stood only a few feet down the hall, and repeatedly glanced around nervously; we were alone. "Don't open that door – the air is poisonous for you." She cautioned, her voice laced with seemingly genuine concern. Her voice had a strangely resonant quality to it, although I could not call her voice deep, or the sound like an echo. It was just… profound.

She gestured for me to come closer, and I took a small, hesitant step.

She rifled around in one of her pockets for a moment. "I believe this was yours?" She smiled, and held out a familiar jingling item.

"My bracelet…" I breathed reverently. "Where did you find this?" She winked.

"I work in disposal. I was part of the team that brought you, so I know it is yours." My med-alert bracelet was one of the more modern ones, and honestly looked more like a charm bracelet than a beacon of _'I have a disease!',_ but I preferred it that way. Hospitals check all of your items when you collapse, but people tend not to look twice at a charm bracelet on the street."Hide it well." She cautioned, a finger pressed to her lips.

"Wait!" I cried. She turned, eyes bright with the question. "What are you? And… the others?" I asked shakily, picking at my fingers.

Her smiled flattened a little. "We are Demons – that means what you think it does. You are in the Demon World - the Makai." She glanced around. "Go now – I shouldn't be talking to humans."

I bowed deeply. "Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to me."

She gave me a crooked smile. I wondered if she had talked to any of the other humans while working here. I wondered if this was a secret habit of hers.

 _Demons. A secret demon World where the rules of lore all suddenly apply._ I shook my head, trying to clear the gunk that was collecting from around my brain. I stopped suddenly, realizing that I hadn't taken my medication in… god only knows how long. Barely twenty-four hours without meds I had a seizure the last time.

But this – _Demons_.

I moved quickly down the hall, back the way I had come. I tucked the bracelet into my armpit to stifle the jingling music. In those few minutes I lived in utter terror of being discovered with that tiny chain of metal.

For all the fairy tales and little myths we read, how would you dare to think if you heard it all was true? My mind rushed – was it just Japanese demons? Were there Christian demons, too? Greek titans or Russian Baba yaga? It made me ill to think about it. I couldn't hold that many concepts and possibilities in my mind.

I made it back to my cell without incident – somehow managing to avoid seeing a single face. Later in my life I would recognize that as one of nature's signs of danger– the silence of the birds before the predator pounces.

I hid the bracelet under the corner of my woven mat. It stuck up a little on the edge, but since all four corners were curling a little, it didn't make much of a noticeable difference. I sat on the mat, staring at the corner. I didn't want to risk actually holding it until they locked me in for the night, but I had to almost sit on my hands to avoid the temptation.

I sat there, considering the wide realm of gods and demons in every pantheon imaginable, still wishing that I would wake up and find it had all been a bad dream.

* * *

It didn't take long for the predators to pounce – an hour or so, maybe.

Garado seemed angry when he appeared in my doorway; his tail twitched feverishly from side to side, and his eyes were narrowed.

"Get up." He snarled. I scrambled to my feet quickly – what could I have possibly done to make him so angry? He didn't wait for me to approach. Instead, he stalked into my cell and grabbed me fiercely by the arm, instantly hauling me behind him.

I yelped in pain at his tight grip, but he didn't seem to notice, or care. I knew, somehow, with great fear, that we were headed back to the sterile room. The halls were silent save for the scrabbling of my bare feet on the concrete, and my occasional cry of pain.

Garado kicked the heavy steel door open with one scaly foot, and his tail lashed me in the process. It stung like a whip, and I cried out in pain. His snake eyes turned on me, burning with a fierce glare. "Stop your whining!" He yelled.

I managed to quiet my cries, and held in the sobs that threatened to follow. I was a trembling, shuddering mess, but I was silent. I didn't want to incur any more of Garado's wrath, intentional or otherwise.

The setup of the sterile room had changed – there was a steel gurney in the center of the room, illuminated by several bright standing lamps, and many rolling carts heavily laden with surgical equipment. A little whimper whispered from between my lips.

Nurse Mei was bustling around the room, filling up one last rolling cart with terrifyingly large needles, and even what looked like a bone saw. She glanced over at me as Garado hauled me through the room, but seemed unconcerned.

He lifted me bodily by my arm to set me onto the steel gurney, and forced my arm into a tight leather restraint strap. Before I could scrabble at the restraint with my free hand, he seized it and restrained it as well.

Panic was quickly rising in my throat, but I couldn't summon enough of my faculties to come up with a way to free myself, or even plead for my life. I could only assume the worst was about to happen. What was the worst? I didn't know. I didn't know anything. That gave me more fear than any illness I had been forced to face.

Dr. Yureli strode past my field of vision, and I started to shake almost uncontrollably. The restraints rattled against the steel, and I'm sure it must have looked like I was trying to break out.

"Hold still, Hana. If you let us do this without much trouble we'll give you a special treat." Dr. Yureli patted me on the arm, as one might comfort a child. I choked back another sob, biting my bottom lip.

I heard Garado's heavy footsteps at the other end of the room ashewheeled in a second exam table and parked it right next to mine– and my heart sank. The face across from me was familiar.

A familiar thin woman with gray hair and deep black eyes. Strange pieces of paper – they looked like Japanese wards against evil – had been plastered all over her body. The skin under them looked burnt. There was a ward plastered over her mouth.

She wasn't bound to her gurney – it seemed to cause her great pain just to _exist_ under those wards. She turned her head slowly, gray hair falling in gentle waves over her skin, until she could lock eyes with me. She reached out one of those frail, burnt arms. I wished I could have reached across the expanse between us, but my restraints were too tight. She seemed to manage it on her own, surprisingly. She gripped my hand tightly, and her eyes widened with terrible purpose.

 _Don't trust them._ My arm hummed with vibration, shaking me down to my bones. I could feel her voice through my entire body. _I know you can hear me,_ the voice said. Her jet-black eyes were locked with mine. _I'm going to give you a gift – my gift. I can only hope that it begins to make up for all that I've done._

Her grip was so tight on my hand I felt my bones grind together. _Be strong,_ she commanded. The wards on her body sizzled with heat as her voice hummed through my bones. _My name is Chinmoku. Until the end, my name is Chinmoku._

Dr. Yureli was back, and carefully separated out hands. "Shall we begin?" He asked, snapping on some sterile gloves and a mask. I started hyperventilating, but it calmed a little when he turned away from me.

Bright lights were focused on Chinmoku, and she was concealed from my view by Garado's broad form. He had to hold her down – for what reason I could only imagine – and then there was the screaming.

Chinmoku was screaming – I could hear it, _feel_ it. I could feel it in my bones, and it rattled the able beneath me, shook the walls and floors. It was loud – _so loud._ I didn't know how anything could be so loud.

She was intermittently drowned out by the sickening whine of the bone saw, and the strangely wet sounds it produced in her body. Her screaming filled every pore of my being, and shook me to my core.

And then – with horrifying suddenness – she wasn't screaming anymore. The room stopped shaking, and my bones settled down again.

It was quiet.

It was so quiet.

Dr. Yureli appeared again in my field of vision, gloves bloody and scrubs dusted with a fine spray of blood. I could see his cheeks pull into a smile under the mask. "Your turn, my little flower."

* * *

Kurama checked his phone idly, flipping it open and glancing at the screen. He was starting to get worried about Maggie – she hadn't returned any of his texts, or calls. _Would it be too forward to simply drop in?_ Kurama wondered, snapping his phone shut.

 _One more day_ , he reasoned, _and then I'm right to worry._

* * *

A/N: Chapter 11 produced some of my favorite reviews – if you aren't in the habit of reading other peoples' reviews, it's quite fun. I read them ALL.

Thanks to Akara Suzuki, Moon-on-a-string, AkaMizu-chan, versailles214, Anber, jennibearrr, UzumakiRaven, TiaKay, Sweet Sprinks, Divine Demonic Assassin, Chibisensei110787, Candyfiendnomnom, tyedyeoreo1015, UzumakiSeiryl, Gg, SilverDragonsTail, TiniHaris, Milika94, Guest, OfficerShadowcat, and Nevermorea for your wonderful reviews!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	13. Founding Core

I awoke in my cell feeling like I had been kicked in the chest by a draft horse. I couldn't move without drowning in pain. My chest _hurt_. Those words are an utter understatement of the ache that was wrapped around my entire torso. I had a headache, but blessedly it wasn't a pounding one. Well, _nothing_ was pounding. I realized that my body felt so strange, and my vision oddly crisp, because I was missing that little shake that comes with a beating heart.

I placed a hand on my chest, and felt for that familiar little tremble of life. I couldn't feel it beating. _My heart wasn't beating._ I checked my neck and wrists for a pulse, and where usually I found a strong beat there was none. I checked over and over again, leaving bruises on my neck and wrists in an attempt to find some semblance of a pulse. Nothing.

 _This is it, I've lost it; I must be insane. The stress was too much._ _I've completely lost my mind._ I cried, and tried to roll into a ball. The pain was too great to move, so I was left just lying on the mat, crying quiet tears.

I couldn't sleep to escape, as waves of pain washed over me with the force of a mighty hammer. I felt like vomiting, but the beginning of a heave always caused the pain to become so much worse.

My body was on fire, getting hotter and hotter with every passing second. I felt that fire flowing through me, pulsing like my heart should have been, creeping through every vein to infiltrate each cell with careful certainty.

And it _burned_ me. It felt like too hot and too cold and too… too something. I still can't find the right word for it. I imagine now it's what a caterpillar might feel when it is dissolving inside a cocoon, on its way to becoming a butterfly.

That hot cold awful burning became pain – all-encompassing, surging, nauseating pain. I wanted to cut off my hands to make them stop hurting, but I couldn't do that with my entire body. My moaning turned into groaning, and soon screaming followed.

I think I blew out my vocal cords at some point, but the pain didn't subside. Despite the new agony it caused, I couldn't hold still much longer. I writhed on the ground, which pulled out a few stitches, to be sure. I bled through the bandages, and my cotton shift.

 _Just let it stop – let me die!_ I wished it wholeheartedly. I had no reason to fight this – I wanted to surrender to whatever god was torturing me, and die, if that's what it took for the pain to stop. If I had possessed anything with which to kill myself, I would have. Without hesitation, I would have ended my life. But fate has always been much crueler to me than that.

In my agonized writhing, I moved my woven mat across the floor. A light tinkling of metal on metal caught my ear – my bracelet had tumbled across the floor.

It was a little memory of my peaceful life before The Factory. It took a great effort to cross the little bit of floor that separated us. I might as well have been climbing up a rock wall for all the exertion it required. I was drenched in blood and sweat and tears and I had made the floor slick by writhing all over it – it was difficult to get across the slippery surface.

But my bracelet urged me on, glittering peacefully in the soft light. _You can do it_ , it said¸ _be stong._

 _Be strong,_ Chinmoku had told me. Oh god, _Chinmoku_. I was so confused, lying there on the floor, that I stopped in my journey to get my bracelet just three feet away.

That sterile white room had turned into a horrible bloody festival of body parts. Chinmoku's body had been – for lack of a better word – harvested, it had seemed. When she finally – mercifully – died, Dr. Yureli had ripped out several organs from her chest – lungs, liver, and what looked like a heart, only more spherical, and glowing slightly. Dr. Yureli had called it a "core". He had said it was strong, and that seemed to please him.

Nurse Mei had continued pulling parts from Chinmoku as the doctor turned to me, and without even bothering to wash off the saws and knives and scissors, had started in on me. I am happy to say that I did not have Chinmoku's strength – I passed out very shortly after they started.

Sadly, though, that left me confused as to what had happened. I had been certain that they would harvest my parts, too. I seemed whole – despite the overwhelming burning and pain and suffering – so what had happened to Chinmoku's parts.

I was in utter denial, yes.

But I summoned my will once more, and struggled to cross the expanse of floor that separated me from the past. I had to use my bare feet – toes pressed against an icy floor – and hands – fingers scrabbling for grip on a slick surface – in concert, while trying not to let my aching chest rub too hard on the floor.

I reached – as a climber reaches for the final handhold – and made glorious contact with the tiny bracelet. It was a divine feeling, with no real explanation as to why. I grabbed onto the chain, instantly coating the clean stainless steel with a mix of blood and sweat. I gripped it so tightly I could feel the links biting into the soft skin of my palm, but I wouldn't loosen my grip. I couldn't.

The cool steel warmed slightly in my palm, but stayed a soothing presence in my hand. I felt like I was holding onto a tiny thread that connected me to my peaceful past. I could breathe again without crying. I could move without wanting to die.

I stayed on the floor for hours, flat on my back, smeared in blood and drenched in sweat, gripping that little bracelet to my chest as tightly as I could.

And I cried.

* * *

Kurama stood in the vestibule of the Dove Center, staring blankly at the bubbly receptionist. He had to blink repeatedly, hoping that it would inspire some sort of mental reset. Nothing came, so he was forced to use actual human words. "I beg your pardon?" was the most cohesive sentence he could fathom at that moment.

The receptionist offered him a wan smile. "Ms. Thomas had a grand mal seizure shortly after her arrival. She was cremated yesterday, and her remains were sent to the family on record. I'm terribly sorry, sir."

Kurama's eyes narrowed in suspicion. A faint twitch of the eyes here, and a nearly imperceptible tremble of the voice there – she was lying. "That can't be true." Kurama responded, his grip on a bouquet of Lily of the Valley tightening. He had brought flowers. Maggie's favorite flowers. Maggie had to be there.

"Mr. Minamino, I'm afraid it's quite true. Things like this just happen – more often with the terminally ill."

Twitch, stammer; lying.

Lying.

 _Lying._

Kurama bowed slightly. "Thank you for your time. Please," he held out the bouquet of Lily of the Valley. "These will be quite beautiful at your desk." He offered a soft smile, and the receptionist smiled brightly in return.

"I'm sorry for your loss." She said, even as she accepted another woman's flowers. Kurama had to bite back a snarl. It was easy, after all those years, to remain polite in front of humans. Feelings and anger would get in the way of what he needed to do. Kurama knew he needed to remain focused and observant.

He shook out his coat as he walked through the glass doors, releasing a little energy at the same time. A few small seeds dropped from the lining of his coat, falling into the gap at the threshold. They would release small roots to prevent being blown away by a breeze. He would need them later. _It seems as though I'll need to do some investigating after hours._

* * *

The little sliver of peace my bracelet provided became the driftwood upon which I survived drowning in agony. I didn't perceive the passage of time – no clocks, no windows, no measure of it – but I felt the pain ebb away a few breaths at a time.

At first, it was all the same, but I had peace inside. It helped. One thousand breaths later, I felt … different. Better? Not dead. Still dying of pain, but not dead, as it had been before. Another thousand breaths, and I could take a full breath. I don't think I was actively bleeding anymore, either. Another thousand, I could move around on the floor.

Then I could sit up.

And then I could stand.

I swayed a little on my feet, but I was standing. I looked around my cell, seeing almost with new eyes. The walls in the cell had buckled ominously. I didn't remember that happening, so I pressed my hands against the walls to be sure. They were definitely warped. It was like they had been pushed out, with great force by a superhuman unseen hand.

I tucked my steel talisman under my bloody mat, concealing it once more. It must have still been daytime, because my cell door was unlocked. It opened easily – the steel seemed lighter than before. I stepped out of the cell; clear-headed for the first time in … I don't know how long.

Garado was leaning against the wall at the far end of the hall. He seemed bored, but his attention stirred when he saw me. He shifted to standing, and walked casually down the hall. "So you're first. I wouldn't have bet on those odds." He chuckled darkly. "Come on," he gestured. "Let's see if it stuck."

I felt a little thrill of fear run through me, but I was too tired to feel the full rush. So I followed Garado down the hall. We walked in silence, but the air was routinely cut by the sounds of screaming. They were muffled by the thick cell doors, but it was impossible to miss them. There was so much screaming.

We stopped at the end of the long hall, after passing many more screaming doors. It was the door I wasn't supposed to open if I wanted to live. Garado retrieved a leader chain from a hook next to the door, and clipped it to a little loop on my collar.

"Come on then, open it." He ordered, tugging at the chain.

"I can't." I replied. "I'll die."

Garado snickered. "Probably not, anymore. Open it. Get on with it."

I eyed him suspiciously, and pressed my hands on the cold door. I pushed it lightly, and it opened with surprising ease. There was a tiny vestibule behind the door – all surfaces seemed to be made of a frosted glass, so although there was a lot of light, I couldn't see the world beyond. Garado followed me in, and closed the steel door behind us. There was a frosted glass door, and I turned the knob slowly, with great hesitation. The air around the door hissed inwards as it opened, and I caught the scent of something metallic – coppery.

I pushed the door open with a heavy shove, and stepped out into an alien world. I gaped openly at the red and purple sky, the towering trees bearing unfamiliar colors, and the nature-like yet unfamiliar calls echoing all around. I tried to take another step but nearly choked on the collar. Garado yanked back on the leader, pulling me back into the vestibule.

"You passed. Don't get carried away."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to Jewel4Sky, Tsuki Kistune Moon Fox, tyedyeoreo1015, Sweet Sprinks, Aly Goode, Nevermorea, Kuesuno, TiaKay, AkaMizu-chan, Chibisensei110787, versailles214, Guest, Divine Demonic Assassin, SilverDragonsTail, and two more Guests for reviewing!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	14. Acceptance

The success of living felt remarkably short-lived. The cacophony of screaming did dim slowly over the next few hours, but as I leaned in my doorway looking up and down the hall occasionally, distressingly few faces peered out of their cells. From hundreds of doors, there were only twenty or so of us at the end of the day. There were still the occasional screams of pain, but it was just a small group that was herded down the hall.

I managed to duck inside my room to retrieve my bracelet before Garado swept past my door. I tucked it into my armpit, of all places, and while it was _really_ uncomfortable at first, it soon passed.

Garado, assisted soon by Mei, started arranging us into an orderly line. A leader chain was attached from each person's collar to that of the person in front of them, making us one long chained line. "Hold still." They told each of us, as they wrote on our thin cotton clothes with a grease marker. We were each given a number – I was twenty-three, last in line – and what was about to happen started to dawn on me.

It solidified when Mei started walking down the row, fluffing women's hair and pinching our cheeks to add a little more healthy color.

 _We were about to go to auction._

I clenched my fists. _Damn._ There wasn't anything I could do about it. I was one-hundred percent certain that Garado would crush my skull like a grape if I tried to run, and I wouldn't get very far. So I stood in line

There was a little girl – maybe twelve years old. She stood in line just in front of me – she was number 22 – shaking a little. Either from the cold, or from fear, I wasn't sure. I couldn't do anything about the auction, but I could try to make her feel better.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I knelt to ask her.

She spoke in a language I couldn't identify – German, or Dutch, maybe – and I tried again. I pointed to myself. "Hana." I said. I pointed to my collar, and the name carved on it. "Hana." I repeated again.

" _Margrietje_.", she responded. She pointed to her collar " _Maggie._ " I smiled – I mean geez, what are the odds? I reached under my shift through the wide neck, and pulled the bracelet from under my arm. I jingled the chain merrily, and she smiled, giggling.

I clasped the chain around her wrist. "It's yours now." Maggie's eyes lit up brightly, and she shook her wrist fiercely, making quite a clamor. " _Shh!_ " I warned, grabbing at her wrist. Mei was getting closer down the line, so I stood, placing a protective hand on Maggie's shoulder. Maggie looked up at me with those bright eyes. I pointed to my wrist, and then placed a finger in the classic _shh_ motion over my lips. She nodded, and crossed her arms behind her back.

Nurse Mei seemed to be doing her last round of quick checks and fluffs and pinches, but she stopped at Maggie. Maggie looked up at the impassive demoness, and offered the weakest smile a child can offer. Mei knelt down, and put a hand on Maggie's chin. She moved her head from side to side, almost roughly. Maggie made a distressed sound, and shied back a little. Mei placed the back of her hand on Maggie's forehead, and frowned.

Mei stood quickly, and unhooked the chain line from the front and back of Maggie's collar. She was pulled out of line, and I was yanked forward, chained in the blink of an eye to the young man who was numbered 21.

Maggie looked up at me as she was passed off to a tall demoness with yellow hair and pink skin. She looked scared. I wanted to wave, but Mei was standing right next to me.

I wish I had waved.

The checks and double-checks of the 'merchandise' completed, the front of the line started to move. We shuffled along, the chains clanging, down the long hall. I thought we were going to go into the sterile room, but instead took a sharp right, going through what I had _thought_ was a cell door, but actually led to a large room with a low stage. We were ushered up a sort set of steps, and lined up to stand under bright lights.

I couldn't see how many people were standing in that room, but as Dr. Yureli opened bidding on the first person in line, I realized that the room was packed. I struggle to describe the humiliation. I didn't think much of goods or cattle auctions when I was human, but it's definitely humiliating to be the cow up for auction. The voices doing the bidding did vary – depending on preferences and intended use of said slave, I suppose.

I don't care to describe what it was like. It was awful.

The auction went quickly, and it seemed like there were a few favorites being auctioned. It depended on their appearance of course, as well as a few other factors I couldn't see, but everyone else seemed to understand immediately.

Thankfully, somehow, I was not one of the prime slabs of beef. Being last, there were only a few bidders. It went quickly.

The chain line moved almost immediately at the end of bidding, and we were drawn back to the little stairs. Dr. Yureli and Mei took payment from each demon as they collected their new slaves. We never went back to our cells.

Life changed.

In an instant.

Some demon in a surprisingly fancy suit with pink scaled skin and green hair took me, and three others. "Come on." He urged, jingling the chain. We followed, silent.

Life changed.

In an instant.

And I couldn't even summon the emotion to cry.

* * *

Kurama stood in the shadows of the park across the street from the Dove Center for a half hour, just waiting to make sure no one walked out the door. Granted, it was two in the morning, but caution seemed prudent.

He walked casually across the street, eyes focused on the Dove Center. He didn't need to glance around like some nervous teenager – he would feel the energy of anyone approaching long before they spotted him. He pressed his hand against the glass entry doors, and flared his energy just a little. It was enough to wake up the seeds he had dropped in the doorjamb earlier, and they sprouted little vines.

The vines crept into the thin space between the double doors, inching upwards toward the lock mechanism. Kurama flared his energy again, and the door made a faint _click_ as the bolt unlatched. The door swung open easily.

Keeping a careful eye out for surveillance cameras, there were oddly none to avoid. He slid behind the reception counter. There was a little record book, and it took a few moments of flipping to find Maggie's name

 _Thomas, S. Magnolia (ID#2302), Terminal Candidate  
Intake: 2 Nov, Boarded rm 14  
Rad. Rm.: 22p, 2 Nov  
Remains sent to family 5 Nov_

There were no further notes. Kurama gripped the edge of the counter top with shaking hands. _Four lines._ The counter started to creak under his hands, and he was forced to release it before he had the chance to regain his calm. _There is no logical reason for you to be this upset. Calm yourself._

Kurama stood at the reception desk for a moment longer, staring at the little record book, before flipping it shut once more.

 _First, find her room – fourteen._

The building had no obvious layout, and Kurama had to thoroughly inspect a fire exit chart to figure out where Maggie's room was, and then how to _get_ there. It took him on a meandering route through the facility, passing a door labeled _CAUTION: RADIATION ROOM_. Kurama noted that it had a high-tech key pad not found on any other door in the facility.

But on to room fourteen, first.

There was already someone boarded in Maggie's room – Kurama could hear him breathing from out in the hall. The facility seemed to be packed; almost every room was occupied. Kurama cracked the door just a hair, and breathed in; taking in the scents in the air.

Maggie's delicate floral scent, dusted with paper and ink, was almost completely obscured by the new man's scent. He had been there for several days, and seemed settled in. Maggie's scent was struggling to linger. She had barely spent a few hours in that room.

Kurama shut the door quietly.

 _If she didn't spend any time in there, then where?_ Kurama thought. _Follow the story, first_. _See where it leads, and where it unravels._

Kurama glanced around, looking for another fire escape map. It was a remarkably convenient way to understand the layout of any corporate building, although it was a relatively new habit of his.

Kurama walked with purpose down another hallway, unintentionally tallying the number of people boarded at the facility in his head. It was over thirty already. _How many more have been claimed dead?_ He wondered. Kurama slipped into the Cremation room. It was a fairly sparse room, universally dominated by the incinerator, so there wasn't much room for other accoutrements, and no reason for decoration.

With some hesitation, he unlatched the large door on the front of the machine. It creaked a little, and Kurama peered inside. He held his breath, expecting to be overwhelmed by a lingering smell of soot or ash, and death. He released the breath he had been holding after a very brief examination. The inside of the human Incinerator was a pristine white ceramic.

It had never been used.

Kurama took a step back, fingers tapping thoughtfully on the machine. He closed the incinerator door, and made certain that the room was left exactly as he had found it.

The incinerator was unused, but he had another lead to follow. _Rad. Rm.: 22p, 2 Nov,_ the record book had read. There was one room that was the likely culprit, and it had been labeled with large caution signs and a conspicuous level of security that was lacking in the rest of the facility.

Kurama walked back to the radiation room door. It took another vine and a flare of energy to break in. He was in an airlock, and there were several positive-pressure suits hanging on the walls. _Positive pressure? For radiation? They need lead gowns, not pressure suits._ Positive-pressure suits are for bacteria, viruses, and other airborne biohazards. Radiation will go right through a pressure suit.

Kurama sealed himself into the airlock, and then opened the interior door. The stale air inside the room washed over him, and he instantly understood.

Kurama walked in a slow turn around the small room. There was no equipment inside. The tile walls were devoid of cabinet or radiation-treatment.

Anger bubbled up inside him, and the seeds hidden in his hair and the seams of his clothes reacted to the sudden flare of his energy by sprouting shoots and roots and flowers. They crept from the edges of his form, and began spreading around the room.

As Kurama worked to control his mounting rage and confusion, the inside of the room slowly turned more green, with flowers and leaves appearing on every surface. In a few minutes, it was a little jungle, and smelled faintly of a fresh burst of oxygen.

It did little to cover the evidence, though.

The little bare room positively _reeked_ of Makai atmosphere.

* * *

A/N: And Kurama is about to put the puzzle pieces together. Coming up – an interrogation by an angry fox.

Margrietje is the Dutch version of Margaret, in case you were wondering.

MANY THANKS to all of you for your patience! I'm having a little trouble conceptualizing how I want some concepts to play out, which influences my ability to write (of course). I'm trying to get it all straight, but thanks for bearing with me!

Thanks to Nevermorea, Akara Suzuki, AkaMizu-chan, Sweet Sprinks, Guest, Candyfiendnomnom, SilverDragonsTail, MagicalRain, versailles214, Chibisensei110787, Aly Goode, Divine Demonic Assassin, tyedyeoreo1015, Catharina M, UzumakiRaven, TiaKay, OfficerShadowcat, 61496562, and UzumakiSeiryl for reviewing!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	15. Ripples

We were led out of a door at the back of the auction room. I was at the end of the chain, furthest from our buyer. I looked around a little as we left The Factory. And realized the auction must have lasted longer than I thought; it was the dead of night outside. The stars above were bright, and beautiful, and the forest surrounding the factory was so thick it was hard to see past the tree line.

I could see other buyers leaving with their new slaves; all headed in slightly different directions through the woods. They were all moving silently – no one yelling or shaking chains. Not yet, anyway.

Far across the edge of the wood, I caught a glimpse of little Maggie, headed in the opposite direction. She was being led on a very short chain pulled by Nurse Mei. I was confused, as it didn't make any sense to me that Mei would be a buyer. I would later learn that mine wasn't the only Factory, and it wasn't uncommon to transfer ill or unwanted slaves from one to another.

So I could only watch her little blonde curls vanish into the darkness, and wish that I had said goodbye.

The chain attached to my collar yanked impatiently – I had stopped walking to look for Maggie – and I moved forward again, following my companions into the heart of the woods. I stumbled in the underbrush as I tried to look around, and I was forced to look down to watch for roots and brambles. I imagine it just made me look painfully subservient, but I couldn't think about it at the time. I was just trying to survive.

We marched through the night, never hesitating for more than a minute, and never stopping to rest, or eat, or drink. My bare feet scraped and scratched horribly on the forest floor, and I almost expected to start bleeding at any moment, but surprisingly I did not.

I could only shamble along behind my comrades, head down to watch my feet, arms up to protect my face from swatting branches.

* * *

Seiji shuffled along the sidewalk toward the Dove Center, sipping lovingly at a to-go cup of coffee. Seiji didn't really like his job – doing laundry, checking alarms, giving out meds. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills.

First at the center in the wee hours of the morning, he was responsible for unlocking the doors. He fiddled with his keys in his pocket, trying to find the right key without bringing his bare hands out into the cold wind before it was necessary.

He shoved the key in the lock, and turned. The lock made a strange clicking sound, and he realized that it was already unlocked. Seiji's brow furrowed – was someone already at the Center? It was unusual, but not impossible. He shrugged it off, and pushed the door open.

He hummed to himself as he put his coat away, and started turning on the main lights, checking the log from last night, and- Seiji stopped in place. A red light was blinking at the reception desk. _The_ red light.

Seiji broke out in a cold sweat.

There was only one room whose alarm set off the red light at the desk. The front door had been unlocked. Seiji grabbed the Taser from its hidden location under the reception desk, and ran down the hall towards the Radiation Room.

With shaking hands, he punched in the key code at the outer airlock door. It opened easily, and he stepped inside. There didn't seem to be anything wrong, but there wasn't a window into the inner room – for obvious reasons. Seiji donned a pressure suit, and turned on the oxygen tank to inflate the suit.

Seiji sealed the outer door behind him, and opened the inner door. He stepped inside the room while staring at his feet – there was a little lip in the floor that almost always tripped him up. He sealed the door behind him, turned and – Seiji froze.

Since when were there plants in the Radiation Room?

On every surface, and creating a carpet on half of the room, were thick, fragrant vines and flowers, and leaves the size of his head. It was extraordinary, as when Seiji had seen the room yesterday it had been spotlessly sterile.

But more terrifying was the man standing in the center of the room. He had bright red hair, and his eyes were closed, almost peacefully. He wasn't wearing a pressure suit, but didn't seem to be suffocating on the lingering toxic air in the room.

"Who the hell are you?" Seiji asked, yelling to compensate for the muffling effect of the pressure suit.

The man opened his eyes slowly, revealing sharp green orbs. Seiji's sweating intensified.

"I'm glad you're here." The man said. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

I don't know how long we were in the forest, but the sun came up at some point. The light barely slipped through the trees, but it did allow us to see around a little better. I had to keep my eye mostly on the ground to avoid tripping, but it was difficult to just keep my eyes open.

I hadn't noticed it until the pace was almost unbearable, but our buyer had been slowly increasing out speed through the forest until we were almost at a light jog. I had never walked or run for so long in my entire life, and I was gasping for air. I wanted to flop over and pass out at any moment, but I did not imagine that would be rewarded with a snack break and a nap.

We broke through the tree line almost unexpectedly; there had barely been a noticeable lightening of the environment to tell us we were at the forest's edge. But as the five of us – me, three other slaves, and the buyer – exited the woods, we saw the grand castle across a carefully maintained lawn. It looked positively European in origin, which seemed almost absurd at the time.

We walked across the lawn, and I nearly sighed in relief. The lawn was common grass, and felt so soft and soothing under my poor feet. We walked more slowly now, and hugged the outer edges of the lawn, sticking moderately close to the tree line lest anyone see the bedraggled slaves being escorted across the perfect scene.

We walked around to the back of the mansion, and stopped at the bottom of a set of perfectly chiseled marble stairs. Our buyer – the suit-wearing, pink-scaled, green-haired demon – turned as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

He cleared his throat, and tugged on the edges of his jacket to straighten out some invisible wrinkle or fold. "I am the House Manager for this Manor. If you do your jobs properly we will not meet again after this day. You have been purchased to clean this home to the satisfaction of your supervisor. You will address me only as Sir, or Kanazaki-san. Is that clear?" The four of us nodded meekly, so he continued.

"Eimi-san will be your supervisor. She oversees all of the maids, and will treat you fairly if you work hard. Now follow me, and we'll get you uniforms and a place to sleep." We trudged up the stairs – cool, smooth marble that soothed our tired soles – and a door opened. I imagine that far, far behind us, another had closed.

I couldn't summon the will to cry. I was empty inside, but as we ascended the stairs into the manor I felt a dark stirring inside me – like ripples in ink. As the great doors closed behind me with an ominous ringing of sound, the ripples grew.

They continued to grow with every echoing step and jingle of chain. Their growing waves stirred against my soul, to what end I couldn't dare to imagine.

* * *

Seiji was crying and whimpering, snot was collecting in his nose and making it hard to breathe, but such were the struggles of being hung upside-down by your ankles. Not to mention being hung upside-down by a plant.

Seiji's head was pounding, and he felt sick. The inside of his pressure suit smelled strongly of urine – at some point his bladder had voided from fear alone. Of all the strange things he had seen in that room, nothing had been quite as terrifying as the red-headed plant man.

He was standing in front of Seiji, a small sharp stick in one hand. Seiji's heart was pounding – what was he going to do with it? It didn't matter if he stabbed him through the heart, or just punctured the suit to let the toxic air in; Seiji would die pretty quickly either way.

"You expect me to believe you? I can hardly trust your motivation." The plant man said quietly, twirling that sharp stick in one hand.

Seiji snuffled around his snot, his voice shaking as he replied. "It's t-true! We're paid half a million yen for each person we send through – it's how the doctors fund all their research! It's too damn hard to get funding here, and a couple of other countries, too – I think there's another one in, like, Germany or the Netherlands or something. And maybe another one – I don't know!"

"And what about Magnolia Thomas?" The plant man asked, taking a small step closer.

Seiji started shaking. "I don't know! I try not to learn names if they're going to be sent through. It's the only way I can sleep at night!" Seiji's breath caught in his throat, and he scrabbled at the collar of the suit with fat inflated fingers. Something had tightened viciously around his neck, squishing his trachea and cutting off his air.

"Please-please!" He croaked, more mouthing the words than actually speaking.

The plant man got very close to Seiji – close enough to see a glimmer of gold in his eyes. "You have just told me you are useless to me – why should I?" Whatever had wrapped around Seiji's neck loosened just enough for him to gasp at the air, but it still sat snugly around his neck – a grim reminder to cooperate.

Seiji spoke around great heaving breaths. "Be-Because I know where they go. I'm not supposed to know, but I know. I know where they go." Seiji gulped before speaking very quickly.. "The rest of the staff are going to arrive any minute, and they're going to see the same alarm I did and wonder why the Rad Room is full of plants and you're going to be arrested!" He took a shaky breath. "Or… you can let me go and I'll tell you where to go."

The vines around Seiji's ankles released him quite suddenly, and he fell onto his head. The world spinning, he was hauled instantly to his feet, and led stumbling back into the airlock. From the corner of his blurred and dancing vision he could see the plants climbing down from the walls and shrinking away into nothing.

The inner airlock door slammed shut on the surreal scene, and Seiji was shoved against a wall. The plant man ripped off the hood of the pressure suit, and snarled. "Speak; and I suggest you do so quickly."

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to my reviewers: versailled214, OfficerShadowcat, SilverDragonsTail, Akara Suzuki, Maiko Hime, TiaKay, Nevermorea, Chibisensei110787, Candyfiendnomnom, AkaMizu-chan, Moon-on-a-string, Guest, Booom BaBy, Tay, ShesAnAngelInDisguise, tyedyeoreo1015, MM, Mikila94, and Ground-Cinnamon.

By the way, if you think you know what's going to happen, or if you have a guess, or a question – feel free to put it in your review! If you're logged in I'll probably drop you a line! I love seeing how your minds are processing what I'm writing.

A few of you have noticed a tiny detail here or there that doesn't spell good tidings for our favorite librarian.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	16. The Song

A/N: You will all hate me before long. Here, we learn there are consequences for concealing your identity. Among other things.

* * *

Kurama stood in the center of the Radiation Room, waiting. Seiji had given him the transponder the Dove Center used to call to the Factory, and now he was waiting for company. The pressure suit he wore felt both exceedingly uncomfortable and entirely unnecessary.

 _Shouldn't there be limits on how far I will go for a human girl?_ He thought, mentally sighing. Kurama – not to mention certain friends – had a seemingly terrible habit of falling into other people's tragedies, and just _deciding_ to help. Feared throughout the Makai, he and his friends were unfortunately somewhat bleeding hearts.

Or are there different expectations when it's someone you care about? A human girl; a girl named Maggie, with short black hair, wobbly ankles, and blue eyes that were always a little sad.

A girl named Maggie, whose smile always started as a crinkle on her nose.

A girl named Maggie, who pushed back her hair to read, even though it would never fall in her face.

A girl named Maggie, who loved flowers.

Who subconsciously jingled her bracelet on her wrist to make music.

Who read as much as possible.

Who never complained to others about her lot in life.

A girl, whose connection to him seemed disquietingly undefined for all the rage Kurama felt at her abduction – friends, acquaintances, or something more?

A girl named _Magnolia_.

"You okay, Kurama? You're kinda quiet." Kuwabara pulled back the respirator covering his nose and mouth to talk. It had been inevitable that Kurama would need to involve at least one of his friends. Hiei was sadly unavailable, having disappeared into the wilds of the Makai with his new wife. Yusuke was far too familiar a face in the Makai, given his position. And so was Hiei, for that matter. That left Kuwabara, who honestly had been his first choice for this express purpose.

Kuwabara lay on a gurney and played the part of the sick human being sold to the Factory. Kurama could play the hapless lab technician, and they would be accepted with little to no suspicion.

Kurama offered his friend a wan smile. "I am well. Thank you for asking."

"Why are these guys taking so long? These weird scrubs are itchy," Kuwabara whined, scratching at one arm.

Kurama gently stilled the scratching arm, patting it once. "Hold still – you're _supposed_ to be unconscious." Kuwabara muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Kurama himself was starting to feel a little uncertain – were they coming at all? Had the Center managed to tip the off somehow that this was all a ruse?

He let out a tiny sigh of relief as at last – almost late, it seemed – a portal began to spin into existence.

A deep red snake demon emerged through the portal, his long arms dragging his knuckles along the ground, and a long whip-like tail followed behind. Saffron yellow eyes scanned the room. Kurama saw the visible twitch in those large, showy muscles as he locked eyes on the unfamiliar figure before him.

"Who the fuck are you?" the serpent demon asked.

Kurama bowed, the pressure suit squeaking awkwardly at the joints. "I apologize for the confusion – Seiji is ill, and asked me to run today's exchange."

The serpent snorted. "Whatever." He cast a short look at Kuwabara on the gurney. "Damn; that one's huge. You're gonna have to carry him – no way I'm letting that much human stench get on me," He snarled at Kurama.

"Of course," Kurama concurred. He made a point of excessively checking Kuwabara's respirator before he hoisted Kuwabara from the gurney into a fireman's carry. It was a little undignified, and the pressure suit let out a protesting squeak as he walked. They approached the portal, and Kurama feigned a moment of hesitation.

The serpent demon snorted in derision. "Just _go_ , human. The damn portal won't hurt you, but I might if you don't get a move on." Kurama bobbed his head in a meek little nod, and stepped into the portal.

* * *

The serpent demon had directed Kurama to leave Kuwabara's body in a small cell, with only a little woven mat separating him from the floor. Even knowing that Kuwabara was only feigning unconsciousness, and even knowing that it was a very temporary arrangement, it was difficult to leave him there.

Kurama had been waved off by the snake, and told to find his own way back "before the portal closes." He hadn't hesitated in leaving the little cell room, but he wasn't headed back to the portal. Kurama walked quickly down the hall until he was certain he was out of earshot, and slipped quietly into an empty cell, and stripped out of the pressure suit.

He straightened his wrinkled clothes, and ran a mental check. _Kuwabara should have no trouble taking care of the serpent._ He emerged from the cell, glancing only briefly down the hall to make sure the serpent wasn't headed back down the hall – nothing yet.

Kurama's stride changed with every step – from timid and demure laboratory hand to commanding and confident. He was the great Youko Kurama, a great and terrible force to behold.

There were subtle signs of life in the Factory – flickers of movement behind cell doors that were slightly ajar, or quiet weeping from forms hidden in shadows. But none of these people were Maggie.

He pushed through the heavy steel doors into a large surgical theatre. It was lacking in the typical observational seats or windows, but held the same idea. Someone who lacked for an audience still wanted to keep the grandeur. A smaller, reptilian demon was seated at a little desk at the rear of the room.

With one glance, he obviously realized that Kurama was a man of great importance and power, and leapt to his feet as Kurama approached. "Good afternoon, my good sir. I am Dr. Yureli," He greeted Kurama, a wide smile plastered on his face in an instant.

"What exactly is going on here?" Kurama's voice dropped a few notes as he spoke, a little of his honest anger adding a sinister tenor to his voice.

Dr. Yureli seemed to take it in stride, he wrung his hands together eagerly, pleased at the possibility of a new buyer. "The Factories take terminally ill humans and convert them through transplants into useful low-level demon slaves for the elite. Perhaps I can interest you in a few young ladies for your very own?"

"I have no interest in your flesh trades." Kurama let the air sit still and silent for a breath longer than would make Dr. Yureli comfortable. "You are aware you are in violation of King Enki's laws?"

The air developed a sinister chill. The Doctor gulped visibly, losing a bit of his easy calm. It seemed he finally realized who he was speaking to as his body hunched meekly. "My Lord Kurama, if you aren't here to indulge, might I ask what we can do for you?"

Kurama let the silence hold for another long moment. "I am looking for a girl."

Dr. Yureli was overly eager to respond. "Oh, my Lord, we have _several-_ "

Kurama cut him off. " _Be silent._ If you utter another sound I will kill you."

The doctor gaped like a fish, trying to show his affirmation without making noise. He closed his mouth after a few long seconds, and simply nodded. Kurama fixed him with a cold stare, daring him to defy the order.

"I assume you have records. Bring them to me," he commanded. The Doctor scrambled away, nearly falling completely over a number of times in his haste to comply. They weren't discreet about anything, it seemed, when he retrieved a stack from a plain filing cabinet by the door. It didn't even have a lock to hold the drawers shut.

The Doctor pulled out a stack of papers, dropping a few in the process, and ran back across the room, holding the stack out before him. It was a comical scene, but no one was laughing. With trembling hands the little reptile handed Kurama the stack.

"Sit down and be quiet." Kurama pointed at the chair, and Dr. Yureli sat swiftly.

Kurama waited only a moment to make sure he complied, before turning his attention to the stack he had been given. The records weren't as thorough as those at the Dove Center – just a list of first names and where they had been sent. It would have to be enough.

Kurama scanned the list with a scowl – it was extensive, going back months and years, even. There were thousands of names. It took several minutes of searching to find a familiar name scrawled in the endless list.

 _Kiki – sold, Kanazaki  
Minoru – sold, Yuda  
Karl – sold, Hamako  
Aiko – deceased, organ rejection  
Piotr – sold, Hanako  
Fatima – sold, Kanazaki  
Maggie – transferred to Factory 2 – illness  
Hana – sold, Kanazaki _

Distracted, he had accidentally skipped over Maggie's name. _She's ill?_ He felt a flush of fear. Awful and horrific as it was, the demon organ transplant should have cured her human cancer. _If she is still ill… her body may be rejecting the organs._

And there was the fear. A sudden, inexplicably strong, hard-gripping fear of the unknown washed over him. It was quickly followed by an increasingly familiar confusion that seemed to follow any thought of Maggie.

Maggie. A human girl who shouldn't matter. A tiny glowing bud of happiness wrapped in a giant maelstrom of misfortune. It should have been easy to classify her as just another of the thousands of humans who lingered in the background of his existence. It should have been easy, and if he had _wanted_ to, he would have. But he didn't want to, and that alone didn't make sense. It lacked logical thought or reason, and seemed to be guiding him down an increasingly complicated path. Kurama had very few human attachments, and that was seeming increasingly preferable to the headache that this was becoming.

 _A headache – is that really what this is?_ He would have to think about it later, he decided. He had more urgent matters to contend with.

Dr. Yureli was still trembling in his seat, his shaking growing more urgent by the moment. Kurama gave him only a passing glance – the sight of him made his skin crawl with a combination of disgust and pure fury. Quiet convenient, though, that there was a great big building just waiting to be destroyed. There was just one more thing.

"Where is Factory Two?" Kurama's cold green eyes fixed the Doctor in his seat, and instantly stopped his trembling. He gulped once or twice before answering – obviously wondering if the moratorium on silence still stood.

"Three days to the West," he replied, his voice squeaking a little.

Kurama nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation." The doctor visible relaxed, until even his weak senses picked up on the spike of Kurama's energy.

 _Leave no trace._

The command rang through the ground and to the forest surrounding the Factory. It struck at each living plant, and dormant seed, and tiny wild flower. And the earth trembled as they rose to Kurama's will. The ground buckled as roots as thick as cars undulated and cracked through the floors before crashing down once more. Vines crept up the walls, forcing strong tendrils into mortar and crumbling it to dust.

Dr. Yureli crawled under his desk, shrieking in terror. Kurama dropped the papers on the desk, and walked out of the surgical room without another word. The building exploded into further chaos behind him, and the Doctor's cries were soon drowned out by the groans of steel and crashing of brick falling to the ground.

Kuwabara ran down the hall to meet Kurama, still dressed in scrubs and his bare feet slapping on the ground.

"Hey – we gotta get out of here; the building's coming down!" Kuwabara slid to a stop, almost tripping over his own feet.

"Yes, I know. Are there any humans still in the building?" Kurama glanced around, and didn't see any others.

"No – I got everyone back through the portal. Did you find her?" Kuwabara looked behind Kurama, as if expecting to see a small woman hiding back there.

Kurama shook his head. "She's not here; they moved her not long ago. I'll explain later – we should leave _now_."

They fled the building as the forest ripped the massive structure to shreds – uncaring of steel and stone and concrete. Kurama's vengeful wrath fueled them, and it was a significantly deep well of anger.

The building began to crumple in on itself, pieces vanishing beneath the earth as trees and vines obeyed the command to _leave no trace_. Broken wires snapped live electricity at plants, burning and biting. Sparks fell on the Factory's records and it caught fire instantly. Their names faded into ash, to be churned into the soil with the rest of the building.

 _Kiki_

 _Minoru_

 _Karl_

 _Aiko_

 _Piotr_

 _Fatima_

 _Maggie_

 _._

 _Hana_

 _._

No trace.

* * *

I wish I could tell you that I mounted a brave escape plan that first night, and helped all of my fellow slaves escape into the wilderness, where we were shortly picked up by brave knights.

I really do wish that I was the kind of girl who rebelled against tyranny and oppression – to rise up, stronger. But I'm not the dandelion that bursts from the crack in the sidewalk to bask in the sun, happy to just be alive.

But this is not that kind of story. I'm the daisy that wilts in the perfect conditions, just having lost the will to live.

But I digress.

Uniforms are uncomfortable. I had avoided many professions in my life simply because I liked wearing what was already in my closet. But now I was stuck in a blousy black dress – think Kiki's Delivery Service type dress – with a white apron tied over top. I didn't have a lot of time to consider how uncomfortable I felt, as the work was sunup to sundown labor.

It took me a little while to get acclimated to the manor, but I soon realized that the household had absolutely no need for the extra hands it had just purchased. The owner of the manor – a person who we never were permitted to see – seemed to hold the belief that the more servants he had, the more important his manor.

Whatever.

I slept in a tiny room with one of the other girls that had been bought – Kiki. She was slowly turning a soft shade of blue all over – a result of her new demon parts, we could only assume – but she was taking it in stride.

We did a lot of work during the day over and over again, just to keep busy. I polished the same silverware twice, and then the crystal glasses four times. Just to be busy. God forbid we not be busy. Eimi-san had walked into the ballroom _just_ as we finished polishing the floor, and were – literally – taking a one-minute break. She smacked us hard across the faces – Kiki's lip started bleeding, and my ears rang for an hour.

That first day was hard. My hands were pruny from being constantly covered in water or soap – which was worse, and my joints ached from running up and down stairs, and kneeling to wash floors or the undersides of tables.

But the second day was worse. I was tired, and sore, and hungry. And that was all just what was left over from the previous day. Kiki and I spent the better part of a morning polishing the glassware – _again_. We tried to talk a little, keeping our voices low.

"I was a waitress, and I was pretty good at it. I could make people feel special, you know?" she said, smiling. A deeper blue shade crossed her cheeks – what I could only assume was a blush. "What did you do?" she asked, trying to turn the conversation on me.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" was usually my reply, as it was at that particular moment. I didn't really want to talk about who I had been, or what I had done. It was in the past – way, way in the past. How long had it been?

"I think you must have been a… a teacher!" she cried, a little too loudly. We covered our mouths, waiting a moment to make sure no one appeared around a corner to berate us. Kiki liked to guess at what type of profession I had left behind, simply because I never gave her anything to go on.

"Why a teacher?" I asked, perplexed.

She shrugged a shoulder, still cleaning the crystal glasses. "I think you've got that whole stern glare thing going on. I bet you would have been able to silence a big classroom without saying-" Kiki stopped in the middle of her sentence, listening.

"What?" I asked, stopping the squeaky polishing.

She paused, and then shook her head and resumed cleaning. "I thought I heard something."

We continued. We had lost our train of thought with the conversation, but Kiki's eyes brightened as she remembered where we had left off.

"And I-" She stopped again, listening. She held the glass that she was polishing up to her ear, and Kiki's eyes brightened. "It's the glass!"

"Eh?" I cried, head tilting slightly to one side.

She held it out between us. "The glass is ringing!"

I held up my glass, and didn't hear anything. I leaned close to hers, but still didn't hear any of this ringing. "I'm sorry, Kiki – I just don't hear anything."

Frowning, she held the glass next to her own ear. "It stopped…" she pouted. "It just reminded me so much of something I did as a kid," she sighed. "You fill a glass part way with water, and wet the rim. When you run your finger around the rim, it makes a pretty song." She splayed her hands over a row of glasses. "You can make a whole row, each with a different note, and play a beautiful song."

We looked out over the massive number of glasses on the table – enough to wine and dine half of the Makai, maybe. That would make a lot of beautiful music.

"You know-" I started, "every glass has a special song just to start with." I tapped my glass with a fingernail, and it chimed lightly in response. "When they sing for you, they tell you their weakness."

"Oh?" Kiki asked, setting down her clean glass and picking up a new one.

I nodded. "Everything has a special resonance; if you match it, you can break it with sound."

"How do you know that?" She cocked her hip to one side.

I set the glass down with its friends on the table. "I do a lot of reading."

* * *

The infinite number of glasses on the table did finally come to an end. We left them on the table, as we were supposed to, and Eimi-san would come and check on our work later before we were supposed to put them away. We hadn't been there long enough to build up her confidence, but that didn't really bother me. It wasn't like I was trying to impress anyone – I was just _existing_ , not really living.

We were just about to leave the room, when we heard the strangest sound. It started as a little hum – barely audible, like a faraway insect. But as it rose into a haunting hum not unlike a light chorus we turned slowly, eyes wide and nerves stretched tight.

The table was 'singing', as Kiki had called it. All of the glasses were vibrating slightly with the power of the hum they were producing together.

Kiki walked slowly towards the glasses, and the song intensified, growing in volume with her every step. Her blue cheeks flushed purple with excitement as the blood rushed to her face.

She held out her hands, reaching over the crystalline music.

"Am I doing this…?" she whispered.

I felt a rush of jealousy, quickly followed by shame. It was such a horrible time to be jealous of anything in each other's shitty lives. I wanted to be happy for her – a strong woman, with a strange, new power.

The strange, dark ripples inside me were moving almost insistently against my insides. However, I wouldn't be able to tell you exactly where they originated, or the parts that they touched.

She turned to look at me with bright, hopeful eyes. I knew we were thinking the same thing – with power, she could be free of her slavery.

I tried to ignore the ripples of ink inside me, but they were surging higher than I had come to expect, and my hands trembled. No – not my hands, my _bones_ trembled within my flesh. I tried to calm myself, to focus on the clear song of the glasses, but that only made it worse.

The song grew, the waves grew, and my body hummed.

Song and waves.

"Hana?" Kiki asked, her voice laced with concern and brow furrowed.

It happened in slow motion.

The entire table of glasses exploded. Kiki took a spray of glass shards to one side, from waist to face. She blossomed before me; red blood in stark relief on her pale blue skin. She reached for me – fingers grasping and mouth gaping. One eye was held shut by a large shard of glass that had pierced through her eyelid into her eye.

She was weeping – in panic and pain and confusion – and her grip left wide red marks all over my skin and stained deep into my black dress. It didn't spurt or gush like one sees on television – it just sort of burbled from her body in a hundred different places. It looked more like a bubbling little birdbath, tinted a deep shade of red.

So I was washed with the red fountains – hot and sticky – and prevented from taking even a single step backwards by her grasping hands. But we stood there like that for only a few moments.

Eimi-san burst into the room, followed by a host of other maid-slaves, and Kanazaki-san. Eimi-san was not a small demoness. I think that she must have had some bear demon in her ancestry, but far back enough that she wasn't hairy all over. She filled most of a door frame, and her short black and white hair was pulled back into a severe bun so tightly it seemed to stretch her skin back as well.

" _Kiki_!" she cried – not in concern for the poor bleeding girl, but in fury.

Her blood dripped onto the perfectly waxed floor, running along the boards and slipping between the cracks. Eimi-san seized Kiki by her undamaged arm, and hauled her upwards. "I don't suffer for troublesome girls."

And just like that – in a crash of sound and crystal and violence – my friend was gone.

* * *

I walked back to my room. I already had a new roommate, Fatima, who had snagged a room to herself before Kiki's 'incident', so she wasn't happy to be there. I don't know how that switch had managed to happen in only a few minutes. Or had it been longer? Had I stood in that room for hours after Kiki was gone?

I nibbled at my dinner – we ate in our rooms, of course, far from refined eyes – and swung my feet over the edge of my bed. I had little appetite – Kiki's confused face was haunting me.

She had been so confused, and so frightened. I set my plate down on the floor, and flopped back on my little bed. Fatima shot me a disapproving look for all the noise I was making with my flopping and sighing and scraping of utensils.

I pressed my palms over my closed eyes, and tried to rub out Kiki's bleeding face. It wasn't working – big surprise. But as Kiki's face burned in my eyes, and her screams ground like a vicious memory. It was getting louder and brighter and stronger and I just couldn't get away. And that made me so choked up inside, freeing emotions that I had managed to keep locked up for days.

And then those ripples inside me were growing insistent again. They grew into steadily increasing waves, crashing into the shore of my body and threatening to tear me apart inside.

And then I could hear it – the Song, capital 's'. The ripples and waves and crashing inside me wasn't just a motion, it was a Song. It hummed and roared and cried out inside me – though for what I couldn't begin to fathom at that moment; I was overcome with the burden of just _being_ in that moment.

I was literally holding myself together at the seams, grabbing myself around my shoulders and heaving on the floor. I could only gasp for air, certain that the Song was leaking out of me and shaking the whole world.

Someone was screaming, but I don't think it was me. I don't think I had enough stable air in my lungs _to_ scream. It must have been Fatima.

I raised a shaky head to see why she was screaming, and gasped. The objects in the room were – for lack of a better word – floating. No – they were suspended off the floor. Floating would imply some airy quality; a lightness of being. Our beds and chairs and even shoes were suspended tightly in the air, shaking as I shook and trembled on the floor. It was like they were trembling with anticipation, or fear, or against some great unseen hand. It would have been somehow more comforting if they had spun around the room, or just risen and dropped to the floor – anything like what you're used to seeing in a movie with a ghost or a haunted house. But these just held in space, trembling.

And the Song rose within me.

I plastered my hands over my ears, but it did nothing to diminish the Song. It had no identifiable tune, or rhythm, or melody, or even a note. It simply _was_. It was cacophony of volume and presence, moving together in great waves of motion that shook me inside and out.

The door bust open, revealing Eimi-san and Fatima. Their mouths were moving like they were shouting, but I couldn't hear anything.

Eimi-san quickly donned a pair of dainty white gloves, and pulled a stack of paper wards from a concealed pocket on her modest dress, and approached with some hesitation; she had to navigate around the suspended, trembling furniture.

She slapped one of those wards onto my bare arm, and I finally screamed. It burned with a white-hot fury, and I swear my flesh actually started to sizzle beneath it.

My scream pierced the air with greater volume and power than I remembered being physically possible for me. Eimi-san's head snapped back as though she had been smacked in the face. When she forced it back down, I could see she was bleeding from her nose and ears.

She slapped a second, third, fourth ward onto my poor skin. I wailed; consumed by agony. And I could feel the Song slipping away. I reached for it – physically, mentally. I could feel a great emptiness form within me at the turbulent seas receded from my shore. I was barren without it.

A final ward was slammed onto my chest, right over my transplant scar, and the last slip of the ocean of Song vanished from my view. I wept and wailed, grasping at nothingness on the floor and within my heart. I was bare soul; made of need and despair and sudden gasping loneliness.

I barely felt rough hands pull me to shaking feet on trembling legs and march me out into a dark hall. I could only focus on the infinite gaping wounds and hollows inside my own soul. It felt like death should, but without the peace that comes after. I was left to drown in the torturous penultimate moments before that final release, circling around that promise, but never within reach.

I wailed and wept, but they do not suffer for troublesome girls at the Manor. No one gave heed to my cries.

* * *

A/N: Hey readers! I honestly can't believe how long it took to write this chapter. I apologize profusely for making you all wait so long, but I hope it was worth it! I was tempted several times to just cut in in half, but it's just too good.

I did just start a new job two weeks ago, and I'm working long hours that really don't allow me to write as much as I could when I was unemployed, obviously. I WILL KEEP WRITING, so don't worry. This story will not be abandoned!

Those among you who are as science-nerdy as me should be able to figure out what Maggie's power is from this chapter. You might have to think a little outside the box.

If you want to know the music I practically binge-listened to while writing the explosion of Maggie's powers, it's _Bedroom Hymns_ by Florence and the Machine.

Many, many thanks to my reviewers: AkaMizu-chan, Aly Goode, TiaKay, SilverDragonsTail, Akara Suzuki, SomethingMoreQ, Booom BaBy, versailled214, Guest, sadisticbribri, Why4What, Chibisensei110787, UzumakiRaven, Ground-Cinnamon, Milika94, Divine Demonic Assassin, Moon-on-a-string, datreviewer, MM, Graphospasm, Tay, j.d.y, SissyPerigrin, The Wolf and The Rose, MyLittleSister, PrinceMaoyan, and Counting Sinful Stars!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	17. Hear No Evil

**WARNING - This chapter contains graphic descriptions of torture.**

* * *

I realized once I was on the Road that the Manor had been a very nice place. _What a strange thing to say_ , you might respond. Let me tell you what my first hour was like.

I was hauled out of my room with Fatima after I accidentally suspended all of the furniture in the air. Eimi-san slapped wards all over my arms to suppress the Song, and I was left powerless. They locked my in a tiny, dark, damp basement room for the night. I didn't even have a single light.

First thing in the morning, I was hauled out of the cell by my hair, and heavy warded manacles were clamped around my wrists and ankles. They burned even worse than the paper wards, but no one seemed to care that I was crying. A chain was strung from my wrists, and I was pulled along like a stubborn horse. We emerged from the Manor, and I realized what a shit show I had stepped in.

There was a procession of misery on the lawn. At the head and tail were large, purplish-grey ogre-like demons. They had boar-like tusks protruding from their mouths from both the top and bottom, and small beady eyes. They were about twice the size of anyone I had seen as of that moment.

They held the chain of the processional front and back – women and men and children – there must have been more than a hundred slaves on that chain. There was a range of colors and various kinds of demon in the change, and I couldn't tell which were regular demons, and which used to be human. I don't suppose it mattered.

There was a brief exchange of money, and the demons were warned not to remove my wards. I was strung onto the chain of human misery – everyone reeked of sweat and piss and shit – and we started to march. From the bleeding feet of those already on the chain, I did not imagine that this would be an easy stroll through the park.

And so we began a long march on the Road.

You might wonder why I wasn't more upset by this – why I don't tell you that I was crying, or begging not to be sent away, or why I didn't just collapse into a heap of wailing and sobbing. You might wonder how I can describe this so dispassionately.

You might wonder. I wondered as well.

Well, I was thinking instead about my black dress. I was thinking instead about how my hair was getting in my eyes, and tickling at the back of my neck. I was thinking instead about how long it would take for my thin shoes to wear down to nothing.

I didn't really think about my slavery. It was just something that was happening around me, without any measure for choice being presented, or quarter given. It was just _happening_ , so there was no point in fighting, or crying, or carrying on about it. I couldn't change it.

But back to the Road.

We moved at a pace just short of a jog, but fast enough that at least half of us were stumbling at any one time. The short march from the Factory to the Manor hardly compared to this. The Road wasn't so much a road in the typical sense – paved or flat or relatively straight – but I would have classified it as more of a tunnel, had we been underground.

The forest arched overhead, trees having grown their branches into the empty space kept free of plant life by constant use. It was a dirt path beaten into submission by feet, although said trees' roots burst through the soil at odd intervals, creating easy trip hazards. Rocks were also a common find underfoot, and never seemed to be worn to a smooth surface.

The Road was set somewhat low, giving it the appearance of a dry riverbed. It had the added bonus of concealing most of us from outside view. Any passerby would only see the heads of our humongous captors occasionally through the thick trees – all of the slaves in the chain were too short to see over the high Road sides.

The march – or jog, really – was also strangely quiet – adding to the ease of concealment. No one in the chain cried, or spoke at all, and the ogres didn't need to crack any whips or yell threats. Everyone was dead silent. It was eerie.

I couldn't take a great amount of time to observe the people around me, or even try to guess what direction we were headed; I was too focused on my own feet, and not tripping over every sharp rock or looped root.

I can tell you, though, that we were all damaged. I don't mean that in the sense of 'sad people being held as slaves will never behave the same'. I mean that it looked like everyone in the chain was scarred in horrific ways – giant marks spanning limbs, some even missing a hand or an entire arm. A woman a few heads in front of me was missing half a head of hair, her exposed skin mangled by some horrific burn. But no one was limping. That left me wondering if no one had ever received an injury to their legs or feet, or if an injury that left someone unable to run left them worthless.

My extended observations took my eyes off my feet for a little too long, and I stumbled over a rock. I hissed in pain as it ripped right through the thin material of my Manor shoes, and cut into my foot. My loss of pace resulted in a quick yank on the chain attached to my wrists, turning the stumble into a full-on trip.

I slammed into the ground, and the chains pulled hard on my arms, yanking them over my head and dragging me along the Road. My head scraped against more rocks, and my body was rocked around my every root it could find.

My feet scratched feebly against the ground, trying to find purchase as I was being dragged against every rock and root in existence. Every time I thought I was going to be able to push myself up again, my head would hit another rock and I would lose the ability to control my own limbs for just a moment.

And then I gave up. I went slack in the chains, and accepted that I would die from accumulated head trauma, or bleed out in the dirt. That was what happened to slaves who fell, right? This is why no one limped on the line?

So I let it wash over me.

The pain.

The weakness.

The defeat.

My metal collar hit a rock, and bit deeply into my shoulders. _Hana_ , it snarled the lie as metal bit into my collar bone. _Hana,_ it demanded, carving that lie into my bones. _Hana,_ the world around me screamed, and named me forever so that I could be Maggie no more. I was Hana; a little flower, torn apart and stitched back together, sold, broken, and sold again.

And who _was_ Hana?

Hana was a blank person. She didn't have a family, or a job, or friends. Hana didn't know Maggie, not really; they had only met in passing.

Hana didn't need to be like Maggie.

Hana could live.

So I did.

With a will that filled my body with fire, I struck out with my feet to find purchase on the smooth Road. I scrambled, kicking and twisting. I hit a rock, and as I used it to push myself up in the half-second chance I cut into my foot angrily. But it was enough. I pulled on the chains as I kicked up, and suddenly was vertical again.

The chains pulled on my nearly numb arms, almost tripping me again as blood rushed to my head. I fought to keep on my feet as my vision dipped in and out of that fuzzy neverwhere that comes with a head-rush.

I could feel the first step I took with confidence. My eyes cleared, and my mind straightened. And I was okay again. My head was bleeding from many spots, and my back was scratched all to hell, and my neck was bleeding freely from where the collar had bit, and I can't even imagine what mangled flesh was under my manacles, but _I was alive._

Caked in blood and mud and sweat _I was alive_.

* * *

We jogged through the day, well past when I thought I would break. We ran from that early morning, through afternoon and evening, and I wondered if we were ever going to stop.

The Road broadened suddenly, and the line came slowed swiftly. We had reached what seemed like a standard checkpoint on the road – there was a large firepit dug into the center, black with old remnants of a thousand fires.

The long line of slaves formed a loose circle around the pit, leaving a little bit open for the slave traders to approach the pit without stepping directly over any of us. We all sat at the same time, and the chains gave one final _clank_.

And everything was still.

I could feel the wounds from the day burning on my head, and back, and wrists, and feet and _oh god_ my shoulders hurt. I knew without having any reflective surface that I looked like a zombie that had just bitten the throat out of some living person.

It hurt so bad to sit down and feel all of that pain, but I couldn't imagine standing up. I sighed a little, and tried not to move. I waited for my limbs to fall asleep, and hoped it would come quickly.

The ogres built us a fire – maybe they built it for themselves, but we weren't forced to move out of that amazing warmth. No one shuffled closer, or moved away. We just continued to exist, a little more content with being.

A little man with a great gray beard that drooped low as his shoulders came wobbling across the camp, approaching every slave in the line in turn. He didn't seem to speak, but just laid hands on their shoulders. A faint light was emitted from his hands for a moment or two, and then he would move on.

With some slaves, he took more time. Others, he passed over entirely after a quick glance. I watched him blankly as he worked his way down the line, until he stopped before me. His face was withered and wrinkled, but calm silver eyes peeked out from under bushy eyebrows.

He reached for my shoulders with shaking, liver-spotted hands. None of the others seemed remotely afraid of this little man, so I didn't shy away. His hands were warm, but stung as he set them directly onto the cuts from my collar. I whimpered a little, but he didn't withdraw. Those warm hands started to glow, and I was washed in a sense of peace.

The old man without a name was giving me a little peace, or warmth, or goodness. He sat with me for a good amount of time, just kneeling in front of me with his hands on my shoulders. I tried to enjoy that good feeling for as long as I could, and held back little tears when he stopped.

He stood, and wiped my blood off of his hands onto his dirty tunic. It didn't help the state of his clothing, but his hands were moderately cleaner. He moved on without a sound, headed for the next slave on the chain.

The warm peace had left me, but I realized I didn't hurt as much. I was still sore, but the awful and all-consuming burning of open wounds had settled into a dull ache. I reached up to gingerly touch where my collar had cut me to the bone, and found only soft, fresh scar tissue. It had healed _just_ to the point of closed flesh.

It was a short lived triumph.

We were fed a warm dinner of something between oatmeal and rice, in both texture and flavor. I didn't care what it tasted like or looked like, I practically inhaled it. I hadn't eaten in more than a day, and I probably would have eaten rocks if that's what they had given us.

The fire started to sink low into the evening's darkness, and people settled down to sleep. The purple ogres walked in slow circles around the slaves, but it felt nothing like when the little healer had walked around. Everyone held very still, and it seemed as though even breathing was suspended.

They walked past me a few times, and I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath. The heavy, earth-shaking footsteps stopped. I peeked one eye open, and saw great feet stopped right in front of my face. One of the ogres squatted before me, thighs as thick around as a tree. His bare feet were as wide as my torso, and put off a nasty smell.

I looked up to a giant, grinning face. I think he was forced into a permanent grin by those huge boar tusks, but I was more distracted by a huge scar that spanned most of his face. The scar tissue was a stark white against his purple flesh, and made one eye droop slightly.

He noticed me staring, and his grin widened, definitely on purpose this time. He waved over the other ogre – he didn't have a big scar on his face, and that's how I learned to tell them apart – who came round the circle to join him.

They both stared down at me, and I stared back. No one said a word.

Scar (what the hell else am I supposed to call him?) picked me up by the chain around my wrists, and I was lifted off my feet like a little doll. Fear crawled up my throat, but I was soon set back on my feet, standing.

I trembled a little, and glanced around the circle to the other slaves, looking for some indication of what was about to happen. No one was looking at me. A lot of backs were turned. My trembling intensified as I saw that a few of the others had even covered their ears.

I turned my head back, very slowly, to the two grinning ogres. Scar and Carl (the other name my delightful brain supplied) shared another grin, and Scar reached for me with a hand the size of a freaking _desk_.

I flinched back, but couldn't go very far – with all of the other slaves laying down, there wasn't much slack in the chains.

Scar took my right arm almost delicately between two massive fingers, gripping it just above the elbow. I looked wildly from his grip to his grin – if I had a human heart it would have been beating out of control.

Scar's grip tightened painfully. I whimpered a little.

Scar gave my arm a slow, almost curious, tug. I lurched forward with the strength of the pull. Scar chuckled darkly. I flushed with something between embarrassment and shame – he was playing with me like a little doll.

But it got so much worse when Carl seized me around the waist with one of his huge hands. It felt like being gripped by an Anaconda. But he didn't lift me, he just held me still.

Scar pulled on my arm a little, but I couldn't stumble forward. My shoulder sent out little shocks of pain and complaint, and I whimpered again, trying to swallow the pain and my discomfort.

And Scar didn't let go, or let up his grip. My arm stayed stretched forward, pulled to the limit of my shoulder socket, and just _held_ there.

I stopped whimpering. Scar pulled a little harder, and I choked. I was past that limit of whimpering, and had skipped completely over screaming. There are such tight limits and margins of error for joints. You can go to a certain point of pushing and pulling, but at some point they can't move any more. If you go past _that_ point…

Scar pulled again, and I felt a little _pop!_ As my arm pulled out of the shoulder socket. I gagged, choked, and made sounds that could only be vaguely described as human.

And Scar pulled again. The loose, floppy, empty section between my shoulder socket and the top of my arm were stretched tight, past the limit of tendon, past the limits of muscle and flesh.

So now I screamed.

My body was confused. It had never experienced a sensation like this. My body had never been seized with such fury, and quite literally pulled apart. I felt the nerve endings in my body scream and burn with a last attempt to compute the feeling, and finally, with a sick, wet, tearing _pop_ , my arm came detached.

I don't think I could process the pain well enough to be screaming after that happened. Screaming would have required awareness. I could only stare down at my shoulder, open mouthed, and watch as my body pumped blood steadily onto the dusty ground. I blinked. I let out a little moan.

My arm was hanging loosely from the manacles, a dead hand next to the only one still attached to my body.

Scar and Carl were laughing, watching my confusion with mirthful eyes, and great booming chortles. They seemed pleased, and very entertained by my suffering.

I wobbled on my feet, and fell backwards. I didn't have the presence to try to brace myself; I just flopped over. I was shaking, and started to hyperventilate. I had always thought that good breathing would help me manage pain, but I couldn't suck in the air fast enough to overcome what had just happened.

Are there words for this?

Dismemberment?

It's so impersonal.

This was so… so very personal.

I wasn't left to suffer for very long, as the little man with the beard returned. He picked up my twitching arm by the bloody shoulder, and held it to the empty socket. His warm hands started to glow. He pushed the bloody arm into the hollow socket with some force, but the pain didn't' even register. His hands glowed brightly, and that wonderful peace returned.

I could feel the pain slip away as little grains of sand in a huge mountain. He was pulling it away, one grain at a time. Then the grains started to tumble on their own as he made great progress with my healing.

After a short time he twisted and _pushed_ my arm, and I felt it seat properly back into the socket. He stepped back, and the glow faded.

I looked down, and knew I was whole again. A wide, raw scar circled my shoulder, sharp and jagged like a line on a heart monitor. I gave my fingers an experimental wiggle. They moved, although with a little complaint. I didn't dare give my shoulder so much as a twitch.

I looked up to thank the old man, but he was already gone. He had retreated to the far side of the circle. His back was turned, and his hands were over his ears.

My stomach plummeted.

I felt a huge hand wrap around my waist. My head turned of its own accord to look. Scar grinned, those tusks stretching at the sides of a wide mouth. And he took my left arm – almost delicately – between two massive fingers.

* * *

A/N: Don't hate me.

Did anyone else realize that there's no dialogue in this chapter?

I wonder sometimes about how much I should describe of what I call 'the middles'. The scenes and bits in the middle of good parts, like 'then this person built a fire'. Do I describe how much that fire means to people living in abject horror, or do I just say 'hey yo there's a fire now'?

Additionally, it's boring. And this whole part of Maggie's life is a 'middle' all of its own. There are big changes at the end of the Road, but her life here changes her a great deal. It will change the way she thinks about right and wrong, and living, and justice.

Lastly, thanks to my amazing reviewers – **this is all done for you** : TiaKay, Chibisensei110787, Akara Suzuki, SilverDragonsTail, versailles214, Devious Neko Boi, Guest, Nevermorea, Counting Sinful Stars, Divine Demonic Assassin, jinxedpixie, PrinceMaoyan, Tay, Mikila94, lil harp seal, MM, Melissa Fairy, Dia, akagami hime chan, and Elicorn!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	18. No

Five.

The answer to the question you want to ask, but are too hesitant to ask, is five.

They ripped me apart five times.

That's it.

That's the whole story.

No great weeping epic of how badly I'm scarred or how traumatized I was, or how I gave up on life. They ripped me apart five times the first night, and I know because of the scars encircling each shoulder socket, both knees, and my left ankle. I don't know why they stopped; maybe they got sleepy and took a break.

I don't really care.

I woke up.

I stood up.

We ran again.

It doesn't matter.

Let's move on.

My second day of running was only marginally better than the first, for the sole reason of the fact that I didn't trip and nearly die against sharp rocks. So that was an improvement, I guess. On the other hand, it was much more painful to run after having my arms and legs ripped off and then reattached in a slapdash manner.

But it was better than missing a limb entirely, so that was a plus.

You might be worried that I was all broken or something inside, and was just suppressing that horrible awful trauma. And that's probably true, but I was only aware of the emptiness at the time. In those few days that followed, I felt almost nothing for most of the time. I wonder if torture does that to everyone, or if I was just special.

I thought a lot about torture. I wish that Carl and Scar had been doing it for a reason; that they wanted something from me, or they wanted information. Torture for the pleasure of seeing someone hurt was just so pointless.

Maybe that emptiness is the point. Rip you apart, and let all of the good feelings and emotion inside spill out onto the dirt. And then they put you back together, leaving you hollow inside. It wasn't as bad as when the wards were first set on me, and the inky black waters of the Song were pulled away. This new hurt was just my flesh, whereas that had raked deep at my soul.

Or they were just bored, and it was something to do to fill the evening hours. That thought was just so much worse – violence for the sake of violence, with no higher purpose than to get a laugh. It made no sense, so I couldn't find a reasonable way to make it _stop_.

So the second night, they pulled off my hands. Then it was the foot that they had forgotten. Both elbows were next.

Five, again.

I slept from sheer emotional exhaustion after the healer put me back together again. I slept dreamlessly, and soundly. My body worked hard to pick up where the healer left off, certain that it would be put through its paces again in the morning.

My body was right.

* * *

Kurama crouched in the underbrush, regulating his breathing to maximize silence.

It had taken some time to coordinate with the SDF to take the building, but as had been demonstrated in the first Factory, there was a good chance that there were a lot of humans in the building. An overabundance of caution was wise, but certainly not desirable. Kurama was getting impatient – imaginary visions of a sick or dying Maggie flitted through his head at a rapid pace, leaving him feeling disquieted at best.

Kurama had left Kuwabara with the rescued humans back in the Human World – he had offered at least a dozen times to return and pick up the search for Maggie at Factory two, but Kurama had declined multiple times.

He should be able to handle these few meager annoyances.

He should have been able to protect Maggie.

 _How do you defend against an invisible enemy?_

Kurama felt almost… uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with asking for help. Uncomfortable with his feelings.

Classify the following: two acquaintances, have shared tea on several occasions, and a dinner. One shared a secret. One kept silent. Attraction was budding at the time of one's disappearance.

Logic proclaimed that Kurama should have accepted the easy lie from the Dove Center, mourned for the moment and loss of an entertaining pet, and moved on.

 _Maggie._

The thought of her name brought to memory a flash of wavy black hair, and a curled, sly smile spreading over rosy lips. No special trait, either hair or smile. He had seen both a hundred times over in both Demon and Human Worlds.

No special skill, to be able to read in great quantities and discuss complexities of literature.

Nothing different.

No one special.

 _No one more beautiful._

It was the horrible scar on the back of her neck. It was the curl of her hair and how it glowed in the light. It was the flicker of her eyes, and the tilt of her head. It was her dry humor, and oddly vengeful nature. It was the lift in her step that implied a desire to dance. She was an abused flower – some gardener had been sloppy with her roots and left her in the sun too long until she started to curl in on herself.

Kurama was distracted from his train of thought by motion at his side.

The pink-haired SDF soldier shot him a curious look, and he shook his head. She shrugged off her unspoken question, and nodded. "Ok – let's go."

* * *

On the third day we skirted around the edge of a huge city, unlike anything I had seen before in the Makai. I could just glimpse gleaming metal spires through the occasional break in the trees. It cost me a few stubbed toes, but it was something different to look at than the back of the head in front of me.

We stopped very briefly at a small town, and a few people were purchased from the line. The ogres pointed at me a few times, but as soon as the buyers saw the heavy warding they moved on. No one wants a powerful slave.

That third night the outright dismemberment was switched to something more like twisting and tearing combined. That led to splitting in the middle of bones. It's worse – it's much more real, if only because it takes so much longer. It leaves you with… with _more_. So it's harder to pretend it's not happening.

I was torn between wanting to be strong, and wanting to be numb. My desires seemed to have little impact, however; I still felt it all. I still cried. I still screamed.

I lay on the ground that night after I had been repaired just enough to run in the morning; I stared at the few stars strong enough to pierce through the heavy Makai clouds. I stared without hoping or wishing or even a passing thought. I just stared blankly; too full of hate and pain to be filled with wonder at their beauty.

Factory two was an utter disaster – it was exponentially larger than the first Factory, and seemed to be completely without a decent records system. There were hundreds of humans and new demons to be sorted, and no one seemed to know anything about anyone else.

Whereas the first Factory had allowed some mild sense of freedom – the humans could interact with each other – Factory two kept them locked strictly away with virtually no communication between slaves.

Now that everyone was free, it was a frenzied chaos trying to answer questions and keep people vaguely organized. The SDF had resorted to moving everyone to the Auction hall – which was quickly filled to bursting. There was simply no place designed to accommodate all of the slaves at one time.

All of this led to Kurama's present state of distress. There were heads and faces of every color, and voices of every pitch and tone, and ages on the spectrum from child to aged grandparent were present. But he couldn't find Maggie. To make matters worse, there was no good place to start a search, or organizing body he could ask.

He wished he had a photograph – some reference point to use to ask others if she had been seen recently. He would begin the process of describing her, looking for any flicker of recognition in the face across from him.

None ever came.

Kurama always thanked them for trying, but the sentiment left a bitter taste in his mouth. The picture of her in his head was imperfect, and seemed to be growing fainter at the edges.

But then came a faint glimmer of hope; Kurama could hear music, mixed in with the joyous chatter. It was a familiar little jingle of a metal chain bracelet.

* * *

On night four, they didn't pick me.

I was so relieved when they walked past me. My chest was filled with euphoria, and all the blood rushed to my head. I couldn't believe it – was my torture over? Would I finally be allowed to completely heal, and just trudge along like the rest of the slaves in that relative peace?

 _But if it's not me…_ I wondered. I opened my eyes – that had been tightly shut – and followed Scar and Carl as they stalked around the circle.

They stopped, grinning down at their prey. It was a little boy. He couldn't have been older than ten. He had soft pastel blue hair, but it was his eyes that captivated me. His eyes were a gorgeous, familiar green.

He was already crying. Rivers from a forest of rich, warm green called out to me.

I should have rolled over, like all of the others. I should have covered my ears and gone to sleep. But something in my stomach lurched and rolled and I felt adrenaline rush through my veins, and I was suddenly standing, and as they reached for that little boy, my voice cried out without consulting my brain.

" _No!"_ I yelled. My voice was louder and stronger than I remembered, albeit a little husky from all of my screaming from the last three nights.

Many shocked faces appeared – Scar and Carl, and many slaves.

"Not him!" I cried out. "Not _any_ of them!"

My limbs shook slightly as I stood in open defiance, but I didn't back down.

"Will you take his place?" they asked, mocking me. I'm sure they expected me to shut up, and turn around like the rest of them.

My voice failed me.

But I nodded.

Scar and Carl laughed wildly.

They each seized one of the little boy's arms, and pulled. His arms tore off with that same sick, wet, tearing sound, and he started to wail.

"Know your place, _slave_. This is what happens when you speak out of turn." They left him on the ground for the longest minute of my life before allowing the little healer to reattach his arms.

I stood there as he screamed and wailed. I stood there as the healer reattached his arms. I stood there in silence for fear of what would happen to him if I spoke, or moved, or cried out. In my soul I ached for him – I _wanted_ to take his burden, but had only succeeded in causing him more pain.

I was powerless.

* * *

Kurama's head whipped around so quickly it's a wonder his neck didn't crack. He was searching for a petite frame and short black hair as he heard the metal music. His hope and apprehension rose as his searching gaze didn't reveal the familiar figure.

Kurama dove into the crowd, following the faint music that his senses promised was real. A steady chorus of 'excuse me' and 'beg your pardon' followed him through the crowd as he tried to examine faces faster than even his brain could process.

The music led him to an unexpected place. There was a little girl – not much older than twelve, he presumed. She had pretty European blonde hair, and light blue eyes. As she walked, a faint jingling music followed her. Kurama could see the glint of a small metal chain bracelet, with a little red charm – just like Maggie wore.

The small girl shrank back in fear as Kurama dropped to his knees in front of her, even as he held up his hands in a mean-no-harm gesture.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice almost breathless, but feigning calm. The blonde girl shook her head vigorously, clutching the wrist, and speaking quickly in a Germanic language he didn't recognize.

"Do you speak Japanese? English, perhaps?" Kurama pressed the girl – he couldn't possibly have come this close for language alone to get in the way. The girl continued to rattle along in the unfamiliar language.

"She says a tall woman gave it to her in the last Factory. She was very kind." A voice behind Kurama offered.

He turned his head slightly to look – it was the same pink-haired SDF soldier from just before they seized the Factory. She stood a few steps away, but approached to better translate for the girl.

"What did she look like?" Kurama asked.

"A woman, with short black hair and blue eyes. Maggie says her name was Hana." she translated. "What?" the soldier asked at Kurama's sudden look of surprise.

"… her name is Maggie?" he asked quietly. The soldier nodded. "And the woman called herself Hana?" he asked, his voice gaining strength again. Another nod.

 _Hana. For flower._ It seemed like a secret message, but Maggie couldn't possibly have known to leave clues for friends to follow. Maybe it was just her way of reacting to an unknown kidnapper – conceal everything.

But where had he heard that name before? It was strangely familiar. The feeling of familiarity was pushed aside insistently by his need to verify that his mind wasn't playing tricks. He needed some evidence – something _solid._

Kurama turned on his most endearing face. "May I see it? For just a moment, I promise I won't take it from you." he promised, holding out a hand.

The little girl held out her wrist slowly. Kurama turned the bracelet until – _yes –_ there was the small circle with the med-alert symbol. He flipped it over slowly – _S. Magnolia Thomas,_ and an ID number. Kurama had to fight his instincts – he wanted to rip it off the little girl's wrist. It was the only thing he had. It was the first real nod in the right direction.

He tore his gaze from the bracelet to turn to the soldier. "Please…would you ask her where Hana is?"

* * *

On the fifth day I think there was an actual cold spot where my heart used to be. Chinmoku's core didn't warm me quite as well as my heart had before. Or maybe it was the cold night air of the forest, barely held at bay by our nightly fire. Or maybe it had something to do with the screams.

They had watched me as they pulled apart that little boy, to see the horror in my face, and the shudders of my body. It was funny, I guess, and entertaining to watch my horror. They had kept it up for a long time into the night.

I tried to keep my eyes on my feet during the march that day. I just counted my steps, and kept my eyes down.

Eyes down.

March.

Stay alive.

We stopped unusually early that night. It wasn't dark yet – shadows hadn't even started growing longer. Scar and Carl were looking up out of the riverbed Road, concern definitely etched in their features. We stood awkwardly in the narrow space, people shuffling from foot to foot, unaccustomed to stillness.

And then, strangest of all, we _turned around_. I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but the sheer amount of _time_ it took to turn around the long chain of people in the road strongly suggested it had never been done before. They actually kicked and yelled at a few slaves who just didn't move fast enough.

We moved from the heavy jog to a flat-out run so fast I hardly had time to get up to speed before the chains around my wrists yanked me forward. I almost lost my footing; I fumbled around trying to find purchase on the uneven ground that we had just covered and by some miracle stayed upright.

It started to rain.

Of course.

The dry riverbed grew muddy and slippery with every passing step, and in some places the puddles that developed started to combine into a tiny stream that ran between our feet.

We were running at breakneck speeds – this wasn't some march; we were running for our lives.

We were running _from_ something.

I gulped in air as best I could – it rushed past strained vocal cords and dry, chapped lips to ravage the inside of my body. I was exhausted. The cold water pouring down from above had drenched me to the bone, and I started to shiver uncontrollably. I couldn't feel my feet, and I truly wished I couldn't feel my hands. The burning of the warded iron manacles kept just enough warmth in my hands to keep them from going blissfully numb. Mud rolled off me in waves almost as fast as it was splashed back up onto my body.

I choked on the very air for a second – _how long can this go on?_ There was no way we would be able to keep up that pace for much longer, of that I was certain. I could hear the collective huffing and puffing of exhausted lungs even over the pouring of ice-cold rain.

I hoped that, when I did eventually fall, I would break my neck on a rock and just die quickly. I didn't want to be dragged through mud and muck and drown in three inches of pure ichor.

I didn't get my wish, though.

Through the thunderous rain, and the rattling of chains, and the heaving gasps of air that rose from the line, pierced a strong, stern voice.

" _Halt_ ," it commanded.

And all hell broke loose.

* * *

Little Maggie responded to the translated question with a long answer. The soldier sighed, and looked quite sad, running a gloved hand through her pink hair. "I don't think you want to know." she said frankly.

"Tell me." Kurama commanded.

The soldier paused before providing the translation. "She and eleven other slaves were sold at auction in Factory One. Maggie was going to be available that day, but she fell ill at the last moment."

 _Hana. Sold to…_ Kurama wracked his brain trying to remember any of the names from the list at Factory One. He had skipped over so many in an attempt to find Maggie's name. In his haste – and his anger – he had missed it.

Now he had no way to go back.

"How many slavers use the Factories for their supply?"

The soldier shrugged. "At least twenty that we learned of today."

Kurama clenched his fists. "And where do they go?"

"I don't know. And the Factory's responsibility ends at auction, so I doubt they know either." The soldier's face was pitying – she seemed to have put together Kurama's agenda, as well as his misfortune.

There was a long silence between the three. Kurama released Maggie's arm, and she vanished into the crowd after a nod from the Soldier.

"How am I supposed to find her?" Kurama's voice was almost a whisper. He could barely fathom finding the strength to rise from his crouch on the ground.

The soldier waited a long time before answering. "I doubt you ever will."

* * *

A/N: I don't completely love this chapter, but seeing as it took me almost a MONTH to write, I figured at some point I just have to throw it out there and hope for the best. I might come back and rewrite this – jk lol no I'm way too lazy for that.

So – if Kurama can't track her down, who's stopping the slave trade in the forest?

Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers (especially those that sent me messages of encouragement): Counting Sinful Stars, Aly Goode, Tay, Melissa Fairy, MM, Tsuki Kitsune Moon Fox, Elicorn, jessylane318, Chibisensei110787, Sanguinary Tide, Akara Suzuki, Divine Demonic Assassin, Guest, Ground-Cinnamon, Guest (2), tyedyeoreo1015, Moon-on-a-string, Guest (3), akagami hime chan, SilverDragonsTail, Guest (4), SissyPerigrin, LKyellow, Patricia Legrand, Mother Ammy, Nevermorea, .life, Lariee, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, and electrogirl88!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	19. Tsunami

"Halt!" the voice commanded from the shadows. Scar and Carl reacted almost instantly, but did not comply.

They leapt into the air, brandishing knives as long as my leg. The shadows obscured much of the fighting, but it certainly sounded one-sided in the punishment being dished out. I heard the clashing and ringing of metal, followed by the sound of something breaking sharply, followed by a long, drawn-out howl of pain.

There was a pair of thuds, and silence.

The slaves cowered and whimpered.

Soldiers poured from the tree line, each carrying a larger weapon than the last. They had an incredible variety of features ranging from nearly human to almost fully animal – eagle heads on brown muscular bodies, or bulging muscles that looked hard as iron. There was almost every color under the rainbow represented in skin, hair, and eyes.

But the greatest surprise of all walked out last, after the largest soldier of the lot, seeming rather small and unthreatening.

It was a woman.

I was surprised, but had no real reason to be. She walked with a casual ease, comfortable with her obvious disfigurement, and unconcerned with being threatened. She carried no weapon, and didn't wear armor. She had vividly red hair – more of the natural inclination than Shuichi's red-red, but striking nonetheless.

She was partly cybernetic, from what I could see – at least one hand, and half of her face. Her robotic eye moved slightly out of sync with her organic one; it twitched from side to side, seemingly on edge.

She spoke in a gentle fashion, the sound somehow carried through the pounding rain by sheer force of will alone. "I am Lord Mukuro, steward of this land; Alaric," she explained softly. "You are slaves no more."

Scar and Carl made loud protestations as they were dragged out of the forest – bound but not gagged, sadly – but were quickly silences by sharp thudding blows from the soldiers. The slaves cheered loudly.

I was flooded with relief, shortly followed by suspicion and then apprehension. _People don't just do this out of the kindness of their hearts_ , I reasoned. _What do they want?_

I didn't have much time to let the worry fester, as all the other slaves dragged me along the chain as they rushed to be released. Mukuro's soldiers went down the line quickly, unlocking chains and letting the heavy irons drop to the ground. I held out my hands as they approached, and the guard didn't glance at the barely different irons; the accumulation of blood and mud had filled in the warding markings, and while they were still functioning they were also mostly invisible.

I could feel it as soon as the key turned, and the manacles loosened around my wrists. I gasped lightly – more of a sharp intake of breath – and the guard ignored me, already moving to the next slave in line.

I stood, struck by a lightning bolt that ran through me from head to toe. Or at least, that's what it felt like. No – it wasn't lightning, it was a note; like a deep, resonating peal of a bell. My hands dropped, and the loose manacles slipped from my hands.

" _Stop her!"_ someone yelled.

The bell rang louder – a great resonance that thundered through mountains and commanded respect and awe. It grew exponentially without faltering, forcing louder and stronger through my weakened flesh.

The Song had awoken within me again.

The ground around me trembled and thrummed; it felt almost like a frightened purr coming from the earth itself. It grew louder and stronger as the waves of Song rose higher and darker within me. I could vaguely hear shouting and frenzied activity around the forest, but couldn't focus enough to identify the sources or the intent.

The storm that rose higher and higher made that first rush of power seem like gentle laps on a calm shore. This this – this was a storm to end the world. A single great wave – a tsunami – of Song was bearing down on my unprotected shores. I could feel it without seeing – knowing through the mounting pain that the worst was yet to come.

The waves of Song, forcefully pushed from my shore, had been growing in strength. The power had a rage all its own. The storm of power and rage the wards had been keeping at bay should never have been suppressed. Had it been physical water on a real shore at least I would have had the option of running. How does one run from themselves? Or shield a bare soul? I crossed my arms over my face in a useless but uncontrollable reaction.

The waves broke over my soul as Song rushed in, full of an eager fury seeking an outlet. I screamed, and the world screamed with me. The ground shook, and the storm beating down on our heads ceased utterly – the rain drops literally suspended over our heads. The rain poured out to the sides, repelled by some invisible, pulsating domed shield.

The tsunami waves were rushing through my body and soul – seeking and finding every fissure and hollow and filling them with that boiling energy. The ink-black waves smacked and stuck to my insides like hot tar, but still pressed against my insides with terrible force.

I thought I was going to burst – that black Song tar would come bursting from my mouth and eyes and ears any moment, I was certain. I was drowning in Song. Tears poured down my face and I hugged myself tightly with crossed arms, sharp fingernails digging deep into my bare flesh. I was trying to hold it all in.

Lord Mukuro hadn't moved an inch. Her soldiers and the slaves had fled as far as they were able – many were hiding behind the huge forms of Scar and Carl, and the two soldiers flanking them. She only watched with casual indifference as the ground began to break up under my feet, little rocks and clods of mud and dirt rising in the air around me.

I couldn't take it anymore. I just wanted to let go, and let myself burst at the seams; _let it be done_. That would have been the easiest path by far, but a little voice rose above the deafening chorus of Song.

 _Be strong._

Chinmoku's words still rang through me – through the core she had given me. How she had lived with all that power, I could never guess. Did the Song ring through her like this, or was it an entity all its own; angry to have a vessel that was so weak?

The Song had drowned out all other noise from around me, leaving me in a sensory deprivation maintained by a sheer onslaught of noise.

 _Be strong_.

How? How can a person choose to be strong? Is it even a choice at all, or a hardening that happens after life forcefully tempers the steel of your resolve?

 _Be strong._

Everyone in the world was once a weak babe, soft as water. Tempered like steel. Tempered with Song.

Something clicked in my brain, a little _'oh'_ moment. My head snapped back forcefully as I let loose the mental blanket of fear I had wrapped around my soul, and Song rushed in. I felt just like white-hot steel quenched in ice water; great changes happening in the shadow of a heartbeat.

The Song filled the last hidden places that I had kept secret from the storm, and I let out a long, heavy breath.

And then I breathed in.

And out.

The Song held.

The storm still raged on my shores, but it wasn't growing anymore. It surged in a writhing, swirling motion through my body. I think every cell in my body was positively humming with wrath. But I could move again. I released my arms slowly, blood dripping down my hands and shoulders.

And we rose together.

In one brief moment I had a little flicker of calmness, and the Song was calm. As I breathed, and felt the trickle of hate grow larger, the Song began to bubble and writhe. That mirroring of energy inside me only amplified my feelings; fear became terror, and hate became rage.

The moment of tranquility was washed away by floods of terror and rage and an all-encompassing need to act. It didn't matter what I did, I just needed to do _something_ to pour those feelings out of me or they would burn me alive.

I turned on Carl and Scar. All of my hate, and my rage, and my anguish came rushing back with the wave of Song. Tears ran down my face even as I felt that fury rise. And then – it wasn't really a choice, or even a reaction, it just _happened._ My body moved without warning my brain.

Without really knowing what I was doing, I held out my hands, palm-first, to the pair of Ogre demons. I screamed, and the world screamed with me. The air around me warped and compressed, sending a shockwave of raw sound to destroy my captors.

My tunnel vision faded as soon as the attack left my control. I saw more faces. I heard more screams.

The soldiers flanking Scar and Carl, as well as half a line of slaves, were in the line of fire.

There was no time for them to move.

There was no time to retreat.

There was no time to hide.

It moved at the _speed of sound_.

 _No._

I tried to take it back.

I tried to stop it.

 _This wasn't what I wanted._

It took less than a moment.

That shockwave of raw sound blasted flesh from instantly shattered bones, and sprayed multi-colored fans of blood far and wide. Screams were short-lived, but carried by the wave long after those that produced it were little more than a pile of flesh and organs spread across the earth.

I pressed my hands over my ears to stop the screams, but just as I had amplified the sound of that attack, the sound that bounced back to me was just as strong. I felt my eardrums shatter almost immediately – at once agonizingly painful and sweet relief.

I collapsed on the ground; energy and hate and fear and pain all depleted. The lake of Song was a shallow pool inside me, burbling low with regret and sadness, but it was just a little feather of feeling in a vast chasm of emptiness. I couldn't hold myself up on my knees at all, and fell completely prone on the ground – face in the mud and dirt, and the rain started to fall around us once more.

I couldn't hear it, but the specks of chill ran down my face, and soaked my hair. I shivered a little.

I lay there for a few minutes.

I lay there for a thousand years.

I'm not sure which one of those is true.

After an eternity of exhaustion and emptiness, something nudged my shoulder. I opened an eye, which felt to be about a thousand pounds heavier than it used to be, and saw Lord Mukuro standing in front of me, her foot next to my shoulder.

She cocked her head to one side, almost curiously.

I stared back, too empty to feel the same fear as before.

She held out a hand.

* * *

A/N: This chapter is much shorter than the other two (by more than a third), but only one thing happened! I really really wanted to get this out – it was some of the more challenging content I've ever had to conceptualize, and then put to paper.

Can you tell from how quickly this chapter got written that I've been waiting to write it for a while? It's both fun and challenging to finally be able to write about powers. Aria never had any powers to speak of (except for that really awful blood thing that got her killed), so I definitely wanted Maggie to have powers.

The big question then was always "what _kind_ of powers?" I wanted to stay away from any and all clichés, as well as anything that's just overused: elements, animals, and psychic stuff was instantly off the table.

So… then what? I went on a long walk with my fiancé, and we talked about powers for about two hours. I wanted something that doesn't sound like it would be a great power, or is a power with drawbacks for the character.

FYI, I almost ragequit on the sound powers concept and gave Maggie plant powers. I'm really happy I didn't.

Many thanks to my reviewers: electrogirl88, Booom BaBy, Melissa Fairy, Tsuki Kitsune Moon Fox, TiaKay, SilverDragonsTail, Why4What, GingerSpice-8675309, Counting Sinful Stars, versailles214, Chibisensei110787, Mikila94, Elicorn, Ground-Cinnamon, Akara Suzuki, Divine Demonic Assassin, Mother Ammy, mementowhatever, Guest, chesire247, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, PrinceMaoyan, Amezialy, and Tay!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	20. Lost

I sat in the tiniest ball possible in a far corner of the room. It wasn't a large room, which was part of the problem. It somewhat resembled the large clinical room of the Factory, but it was dimly lit, and the walls were curved in at the ceiling. The room was an unfamiliar color and material – something between wood and metal, almost.

Lord Mukuro was nowhere to be seen. Most of the larger demons were also conspicuously absent. Someone had the thoughtfulness to send only one tiny demon into the room – she was a small woman – maybe only three feet tall – with cute little mouse ears and a thin tail she used as a third hand. She moved around the little room easily and quickly, retrieving tools and scanners as she needed them.

She approaching me very slowly any time she needed to touch me. She kept touches very gently and brief, and made sure to show me whatever she was about to use before it got within five feet of me. I knew that she was treating me like an abused puppy, but I couldn't feel upset or begrudging about it because I was just so _relieved_.

"You are in the best of health," she chirped cheerfully. "You'll most likely keep those scars, I'm afraid." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I can give you something to help them fade a little, but there's not much you can expect after limited healing after dismemberment."

My eardrums had healed spectacularly quickly – within a few hours – but the noticeable absence of another medical condition shocked me. _My tumor is gone?_ I shouldn't have been surprised – how many days had I gone without medication? Without needing my glasses? Without feeling ill at all?

"Thank you," I croaked. My voice sounded husky and hollow, even to me. I had barely used it for anything other than screaming the last few days. It made me incredibly self-conscious; about my voice, about my scars, about my existence.

As the mouse demoness buzzed around the room I tried to cover myself as much as possible. I wanted to cover my scars, but the black dress from the Manor had not fared very well, and wasn't enough fabric to cover all of the future scars in the first place.

My conspicuous tugging of the stained and tattered black dress drew the mouse demoness's attention. "I almost forgot – these are for you." She pulled a stack of clothes from under the table and set them next to me. She did not attempt to directly hand them to me. "If you don't feel comfortable changing in here, there's a small room in the back with a door that locks."

I snatched the stack of clothes and scurried back to the door that she had mentioned, swiftly locking it behind me. My hands were shaking as I slid the bolt across – the tiny amount of security was almost overwhelming. It gave me a power I thought I had lost. I leaned against the door for a minute with my forehead pressed against the wood.

"This is okay," I whispered, willing myself to believe it.

There were a few little garments that looked similar enough to undergarments – imagine a sports bra and boy-short panties – and pants and a shirt. The fabric was softer than it looked – imagine the softness and lightness of tissue-weight cotton, but looks as strong as burlap. It was a sleeveless black shirt with a high turtleneck, and royal blue pants that had wide legs. I tucked the hem of the pants into the black boots, and laced them up tightly. There was also a black leather-looking belt with an odd buckle that took me a few minutes to work out.

I tugged the collar down and under the metal collar I still wore. _Hana_ , it proclaimed.

I wished that the shirt had sleeves – I felt horribly conspicuous with the huge scars around my elbows and wrists, not to mention the healing ward burns from the manacles.

I felt hideous. I needed to shower – a long, hot shower that lasted for hours, and peeled the flesh from my body. I wanted to grow new skin so badly, as if erasing the marks would somehow erase what was done.

But I knew better.

 _Well, you_ _ **are**_ _in a medical supply closet – I'm sure there's something in here you can use._ I rifled around in a few drawers, and finally came up with a few rolls of cotton bandages. I wound them around my arms, starting from mid-bicep and carefully winding them down my arms, and wrapping them around my hands and knuckles like boxers' wraps.

It helped; out of sight, out of mind.

* * *

No one was waiting for me when I emerged from the medical supply closet. I waited around for a few minutes before my curious nature overcame my fear. I hovered in the doorway for several long minutes – like a cat that can't decide if it wants to be in our out. Then I stepped out a few inches. Then a few more.

Soon enough I was wandering at ease down long, wide hallways. As I ran a hand along the odd wall material that seemed to be somewhere between metal and wood, I realized it was _chitin_ – the same material bug exoskeletons are made of. It sorta explained the external appearance of the fotress – it didn't just _look_ like an insect… it _was_ an insect.

I wandered alone for more than an hour – most of the fortress was seemingly abandoned. It was quite odd. I wondered what was the use of such a huge fortress if no one was home.

I enjoyed getting lost in the vast and empty spaces - it offered a peace I hadn't been expecting. It was an _I am here_ without anyone else replying _I am too_. The silence and space were my companions. They stood at my shoulders, both bracing me and keeping my counsel.

I wandered into a huge room – much larger than I had been expecting – and instantly realized I was intruding. _Whoops,_ I thought to myself. "Lord Mukuro?" I asked, with great trepidation, as I walked into the grand room.

"Come in, little one," she beckoned. "Do the clothes fit?" she asked, and glanced my way. "Mm. A fair sight better than before." She bade me come closer with a casual wave of her hand and I hurried to comply.

The approach along the long, long banquet table left my hands shaking a little. To be in the presence of someone so… powerful was understandably intimidating. The piercing gaze she had leveled across the distance between us seemed to apply a physical force on my flesh.

She stood in a smooth wave of motion as I approached, and I was reminded that she was much taller than me. "Do I frighten you, little one?" she asked, her voice as smooth as her motions.

I shook my head once, stopped, then nodded slightly. She smiled, appearing to hold back a laugh on my account. Her eyes drifted down a touch from my face. The light must have caught the metal of my collar, and its presence seemed to displease her.

Mukuro's lip curled slightly in disgust, and she reached for it. "Hold still, little one," she commanded, the smooth nature of her voice washing away to reveal a cold iron beneath.

"Wait!" I shrank back. I didn't really have a reason for wanting to keep the damnable thing on, but the thought of having it cut away from me gave me such anxiety.

Mukuro did hesitate at my apparent distress, but then just moved forward a little more slowly. "No good can come from living in chains that no longer bind you."

I was exceedingly uncomfortable with her hands that close to my throat, but I didn't imagine I could remove it myself. Mukuro reached up very slowly, and wrapped her hands around the rusting iron. With one casual squeeze she warped the metal under her hands, continuing to flex it until the metal finally gave way, tearing as easily as tissue.

"Hana, is it?" she asked, examining the warped metal. I was tempted to deny it, and go back to my old name. But the name 'Maggie' felt alien on my tongue – a different person, from a different time.

I shrugged, massaging my neck with a free hand. "If it pleases you, my Lord."

She barked out a short laugh. "There's no need for that." She tossed the collar across the room, and it rang out in the darkness of a far shadow, never to be seen or heard from again. She waved me down into a seat as she sank into one again herself. "Your eyes are full of questions, Hana; speak."

I tried to make myself comfortable, and found that mostly impossible, so ignored it. I cleared my throat in the hopes of sounding less like a squashed frog. "Might I ask why you rescued us?"

Mukuro blinked her natural eye. "Are you being treated better now?"

I nodded fiercely. "Yes, of course!"

"Then why are you complaining?" she asked, leaning forward slightly in her seat.

I fidgeted. "My Lord, I fail to understand why someone of your position would go to the trouble to rescue us, and then give us shelter."

She leaned back in her chair, chin tilted up slightly. "I have a particular hatred for slavery, and do not tolerate it within the boundaries of Alaric. Beyond that, I wanted you."

" _Me,_ Lord?" I squeaked.

Mukuro's expression didn't change, but she still seemed amused. "If you are looking for a reason, power is as good as any. I am always interested in strength. I was willing to take in a handful of otherwise weak demons to keep that power and strength close at hand."

"I'm not strong," I protested weakly.

"I've never met a demon who could manipulate sound as you do." She leaned across the table and laced her fingers together under her chin in a distinctly feminine motion. "You will have strength capable of destroying kingdoms, of that I'm certain."

* * *

I didn't even get a day

Not one day.

Not one to appreciate Mukuro's kindness.

Not one to revel in freedom.

Not one to nurture a glimmer of happiness again.

Not one day.

* * *

After I talked to Mukuro for a time, I allowed myself to get lost in the fortress again. I ran my hands against the chitin walls, and imagined I could speak to the giant insect that carried us around the Makai.

I realize now it was foolish of me to feel so at ease in that fortress having only been there for a short time. None of the demons who hadn't been in the clearing when I was rescued had any clue who or what I was.

I really should have been more careful.

But, instead, I walked around the halls alone, running my hands along the walls, occasionally humming to myself. I enjoyed the resonance of humming, as did the Song inside me.

I was lost again. I was enjoying the silence around me, and the silence inside me I could fill with Song.

And then I turned a corner, and I wasn't alone anymore.

"You look lost." This particular speaker had laced too much honey over his words. He was clearly one of Mukuro's soldiers – huge, hulking, and muscular. He carried a claymore sword in one hand as if it weighed no more than an umbrella.

His smile didn't help either – lips stretched too tight over sharp white teeth. I couldn't look at his face, just his too-sharp teeth.

I wanted to escape; to be alone again. I walked quickly, trying to get around him and continue on into the silence once more. I couldn't find words like _excuse me_ as I scootched closer to the wall; I was a tight-lipped mute

The larger demon grabbed my arm as I tried to slip past him, stopping me short. He squeezed hard, saying something in an angry voice, but the pain and noise barely registered over the alarms that started blaring in my brain.

 _No._

Big hands holding arms.

Hands squeezing.

Pulling.

Pulling me apart and letting me bleed on the ground, screaming, crying, dying.

 _NO!_

 _DON'T TOUCH ME_ , my mind screamed, and the Song rose. It rushed out of me with the speed of a bullet, and the strength of a tank. The demon was blasted against the wall before my thought was even over; the force propelling him half into the curved walls.

Time didn't exist – no – time was moving in a loop. I was stuck in that moment of pain and fear and internal self-destruction. The Song filled me with strength in answer to my call. I needed force and power to break the hands that wanted to hurt me again.

It was always the same hands.

It would always be the same hands.

" _ **DON'T TOUCH ME!"**_ I screamed out loud. My voice was amplified with my power, reaching cacophonous volumes. The echo alone burst my eardrums, and little dribbles of blood trickled out of my ears.

There was a lingering feeling of his touch on my skin, and it kept me from returning to a calm state. I couldn't stop blasting him again and again with those waves. The sound reverberated through the walls and floor echoed far, far down the long hallway.

He stopped moving.

He stopped breathing.

There was a bluish puddle of something that resembled blood around his mangled body.

It was over so fast – maybe thirty seconds from contact to death.

It was over.

* * *

A/N:Hello, readers.

Yeah, it was short again.

As I'm sure you've noticed by now, chapters are indeed taking much longer to be written – it's partially due to my new work schedule, and partially due to how difficult it is to write in Maggie's voice, as well as visualize where her story is going.

I have a few paths set before Maggie, and I'm honestly not sure which path she's going to head down yet. I'm seeing where it's going chapter by chapter, with a few really great scenes WAAAAYYYY in the future already written, such as a few ways she might reunite with our favorite fox demon ;)

The areas between those big scenes, however, are what's giving me trouble. I don't want it to be boring, but you all seem so desperate for them to meet back up… and it's not happening for a bit.

So here are your options (and I'd like your opinion, as this is honestly all for you):

I can go with my vague original plan, with long development of Maggie/Hana's new demon life and how her powers develop. This would take a while for each chapter to come out, as it has so far.

We can skip over some of the middles, jumping forward a month or so at a time as soon as our current issue gets resolved. Time will pass much sooner, and our favorite people will meet up again much sooner.

The second option wouldn't cut out good development; it would just help this development time go faster. I think I do like the second option more; I just want to be certain I'm not robbing you, dear readers, of your desired experiences.

Anyway,

Many thanks to my reviewers: Booom BaBy, Chibisensei110787, Meliko, PrinceMaoyan, Guest, Akara Suzuki, Melissa Fairy, Why4What, Counting Sinful Stars, electrogirl88, TiaKay, SilverDragonsTail, versailles214, Moon-on-a-string, OfficerShadowcat, Elicorn, Sanguinary Tide, Mikila94, MM, Ground-Cinnamon, ON EDGE, Devious Neko Boi, ShadesLament, Kitsune to Tenshi-chan, Unicornninja14, Caralirani, LtComm, Tay, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, pourquoibella, Hermetics, Distractionforyourthoughts, Emzybubble, Jayna Atsushi, akagami hime chan, and Yuuki no Yuki!

(WOW! 36 reviews for chapter 19! Pressed Between Pages now has more reviews than my other story, which is twice as long. Blows my mind.)

PLEASE REVIEW!


	21. You're Still a Mystery

I could feel the shaking of many heavy footsteps approaching.

I didn't move.

The footsteps stopped, and retreated.

Feather-light footsteps returned, alone.

Someone kicked my foot, and I looked up. There was Lord Mukuro, her head cocked to one side curiously. She tossed her head to one side; _follow me_.

It took an incredible amount of effort and energy to pick myself up off the floor, seeing as no one felt the urge to help me this time. But I did it – Lord Mukuro was already walking away, and I had to scurry to catch up.

 _This is it_ , I thought, _you're being kicked out. Maybe they're giving you to another slaver. Too much trouble to keep you around._ It had been overly generous of Mukuro to take in all the slaves she had liberated – I hoped that my mistake hadn't cost the rest of them their shelter.

Mukuro stopped in front of a heavy wood door and waited for me to catch up – I had been walking several lengths behind her.

She opened the door, and we walked through a dimly lit room to a smaller back door. She opened it, and steam poured out. There was a bath inside capable of drowning several large men, already brimming with hot bathwater.

Mukuro pointed to a little stack of towels, and then she left.

Where I should have been ecstatic over the idea of finally getting a bath – as I had wanted – I just felt sort of numb. Numb was good. Numb didn't hurt. Numb was just… numb.

I got undressed and slipped into the hot bath – a pleased sigh slipped from my lips, and I snapped them shut immediately. I had no right to be happy about anything. I sank low in the water; as low as I could get while still breathing from my nose.

I knew the moment my eardrums healed, as I could hear the rippling of the water against the sides of the tub.

I focused on that sound – peaceful, steady, gentle – instead of my thoughts. I sat in the bath, working hard to think about nothing, staring at the sides of the tub. Staring at water, making little waves. Thinking about breathing.

I was ok.

Numb was ok.

Numb meant nothing hurt.

Mukuro was waiting for me when I emerged from the bathroom an eternity later. She was lounging in a plush sofa, and gestured for me to take a seat in a matching chair across from her. I complied, sitting just on the edge of the chair, waiting for a dreaded announcement I knew must be coming.

"Drink this," she commanded, holding out a little ceramic goblet. I complied, and the liquid burned like cheap whiskey as it ran down my throat.

"I'm sorry," I whispered under my breath. "Please don't punish the others for my mistake."

"What are you talking about?" Mukuro sounded mildly annoyed.

I gripped the goblet tightly and tried not to sound like I was begging. "The others from the line; please don't kick them out."

Mukuro made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a derisive snort. "Don't be absurd; that guard paid for his stupidity appropriately. I'm not kicking anyone out." She poured herself a goblet of the harsh alcohol, and took a swift swig. I don't know how she drank it that quickly – the stuff was stronger than floor cleaner. "You'll stay in here tonight; it's far enough away from the barracks that you shouldn't be able to kill anyone in your sleep. I'll send Nyema to retrieve you in the morning." I searched my fuzzy memory, and came up with the little Mouse demoness.

"What for?" I asked, my tongue starting to feel too large for my mouth.

Mukuro drained her goblet, and filled it again. She offered me the bottle, and I shook my head quickly – I was sure it would dissolve my insides if I drank too much. She shrugged, and poured more into her own goblet. "You clearly have no control over your powers, which is understandable, but should not be allowed to continue. As much as stupidity should always be removed from my forces, daily deaths might lower morale." I squirmed uncomfortably, and her lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. "You'll be training with Nyema to get your powers under control."

I leaned forward so quickly I spilled some of the alcohol from my goblet onto the floor. "Do you really think I can get this under control?"

Mukuro didn't seem to notice the mess I had made – or she didn't care. She shrugged nonchalantly. "That's up to you." She glanced at me over the goblet. "Your power comes from your conviction. There is raw energy, of course, but the ability to take that and mold it into strength comes from here," she tapped her head. "Your core will always have a will of its own – it was never yours. The demon it once was will always fight against you. You will have to work harder than all others around you, and not just _hope_ you can control it, but _know_ that you _do."_

I bit my lip, fighting back the wave of frustration that threatened tears. "I don't know how to do that."

Mukuro nodded. "And therein is the crux of the issue. You have doubts, and fears, and too much cluttering up your mind."

"There's not much I can do about that." My voice was getting quieter with every word.

"I could have your memory erased," Mukuro offered. "I would have everything before your time in Alaric removed – your human life, your conversion, and your slavery would be gone."

That was a possibility? We sat in silence – my brain running a thousand miles an hour, and Mukuro just staring at me across the space between us. I hadn't considered the incredible range of powers that must exist in the Makai – I had seen such a limited sample. I also hadn't spent much time thinking about how to change my situation. I had just accepted each new piece of my life as it was thrown upon me, and never tried to find a way out or escape on my own.

What did that say about me as a person? Was I overly accepting, or just apathetic? Did I care at all about my life, or was I content to roll over and just let it happen, whatever 'it' was?

Mukuro was still staring, and I was unable to hold her intense gaze. I looked down at the floor, fighting back tears. I didn't deserve the peace she was offering. I deserved my pain and nightmares. I deserved to suffer through the memories of what I had done. I needed to carry that, because even thought I couldn't make sense of what had been inflicted on me, and the choices that others had mane, my memory was ultimately _my_ choice.

"But they wouldn't really be gone," my voice was husky with emotion. "It would still have happened. And those people would still be dead."

"That's true."

"There isn't much about what happened that I had control over – if anything, actually. I think… I think I need to remember. It's all that's left of some of them, and even if they were bad people… I don't know," I looked back up at Mukuro. "I just don't think I'm ready to forget. Move on, maybe, but not _forget_. I can't erase what happened, so I shouldn't erase the memory."

Mukuro stared, not moving. Her eyes searched my face, her mechanical one moving a half-second ahead of her natural one.

She stood abruptly, startling me. "Alright," she said. "Get some sleep, Hana. Nyema will retrieve you in the morning, and we'll see what we can do in the meantime to keep the body count low."

And that was that.

* * *

Kurama stood in front of Maggie's apartment, clutching her key tightly. He had avoided going on for too long, he knew that, but it didn't make it any easier to unlock the door. He shook his head, sighing, and gave the key a little shake.

 _You're being ridiculous_ , he chided. Maggie's poorly-tended plants leaned slightly towards the door as it opened, reaching for his energy. He released it willingly, a sort of apology for leaving them untended for so long.

Maggie's apartment was half-packed – there were open boxes everywhere, and only a handful taped shut by the door. _Her parents must have come by. They haven't made much progress._ The packing was sporadic, it seemed. Maggie's clothes and books had been packed away, but none of her photographs had been moved. _They could only pack what didn't hurt to see._

All the photos were piled on the coffee table – framed, unframed, and photo albums. Kurama sat down heavily on Maggie's old sofa, and pulled an album towards him on the coffee had taken the time and energy to lovingly assemble the photo album, sealing photos behind protective plastic sheets and writing little notes beneath each photograph.

 _This is Maggie's handwriting_ , Kurama realized. Kurama meandered through the album, following Maggie's life. There were a lot of photos from Louisiana, according to Maggie's delicate script. Her mother was alone for her birth, that much he remembered. In Maggie's toddler years there were photos of her and a large man he assumed was her father. Their family looked happy together.

And then there were no more pictures of her mother. Maggie looked particularly somber for a young child.

Then there was a photo of her and her father underneath a Torii gate – _the year they came to Japan._ Kurama smiled at Maggie's sour face in Japanese school uniforms, and almost laughed as she made faces to the camera – her father behind the lens, assuredly.

And then all the light went out of her eyes. It was a school portrait, and she looked dead inside. _Cancer diagnosis four days prior,_ read Maggie's handwriting, _makeup was on point, though._

Kurama could see she tried to make light of it – there was a picture of Maggie and her father with matching bald heads ( _Dad showing his solidarity!_ The caption read), but that familiar lingering sadness clung to her in every photo.

He flipped back to the last page, and felt a rush of shock roll over him. It was a photo of him and Maggie, together at the café. The photo had been taken from outside, peeking through the large window. _Mrs. Kimura is a snoop, but takes nice pictures,_ was the caption.

 _I think this is the only photo of us together,_ Kurama thought. They looked happy. Kurama's face held a sly grin, but Maggie was laughing openly. Kurama couldn't remember what they talked about that day.

He shut the book forcefully, and slid it across the table. _She's gone. Let it go._

He hadn't known her very long. She had just been yet another human woman in a never-ending sea of faces. Courtesy had drawn him into a conversation, but interest had kept him there. She had an incredibly expressive face, and an intelligent humor fueled by a keen mind. She was happy to share her love for the knowledge abundant around her, and Kurama had enjoyed what she recommended.

He hadn't known her very long, but he found a kindred spirit; a trickster's spirit that he couldn't help but respond to with his own. She played jokes with books, and he with plants and little looks.

She haunted his life – not in any harmful or dark way – in that he wanted to make her smile, and would spend a great amount of time planning how to do just that. He wanted the best joke, or the best gesture – one that would delight and inspire her to respond.

And at the height of that short, short time, when it seemed as though their game was at its best, she was gone.

Gone.

Spirited away in the night, cut apart and sewn back together, and _sold_. As a _slave._ And all that joy and sorrow and laughter and twisted smiles was _gone_. And if she had survived the hasty demonic conversion she would live hundreds of years in suffering.

But it shouldn't _hurt_ so much. He shouldn't be so attached to a human woman he hadn't known very long. He shouldn't have leveled the Factory in his anger. He shouldn't have crossed half the Makai to follow a lead. He shouldn't have spent so much time sitting in an empty apartment, looking at old photos.

But there he was, sitting alone at the end of the story. Kurama's hands clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white. It was the end – he had done all he could, and all paths had led to dead ends. His own thoughtless rage had cut off his last avenue, and that was it. No more searching. No more Maggie. Nothing.

Kurama felt utterly powerless. The last time he had felt like this, his mother had been ill, and-

A whole train of thought suddenly rushed through his brain, and landing squarely at a door he hadn't thought to open.

It _wasn't_ the end. There was another way to search for hidden things in the Makai – secret places that required certain talents to find.

Kurama flipped back a page or two until he found what he was looking for. It was a simple photo – Maggie in her apartment, sitting on the sofa, looking up from a book she had been reading, smiling wryly. _Taken by Dad; "Magnolia in her natural environment" – very funny, Dad,_ the caption read. Kurama peeled back the protective plastic and pulled out the picture of Maggie – he would need it.

He was going back to the Makai.

* * *

I was awoken in the morning by the gentlest of knocks on my bedroom door. I barely heard it, wrapped up as I was in blankets, far from the door. I wasn't able to bring myself to sleep in the bed the night before – I had felt so exposed – so I had slept on the plush sofas after wrapping myself up into a blanket burrito.

"Hana?" Nyema called softly, opening the door barely a hair.

"I'm awake, just give me a minute," I answered groggily. I swung my feet onto the cold floor a recoiled for a moment. "I just need to splash some water on my face."

"Alright – I'll be here in the hall when you're ready." The mouse demoness closed the door again.

True to my word, I rolled off the sofa – still fully dressed from the day before – and just quickly splashed some water on my face. I looked like shit – dark purple smudges under my eyes betrayed my lack of good sleep for the last few weeks. My hair was completely out of control, and I ran my fingers through it a few times before giving up.

"Okay," I nodded to my reflection. "Here we go."

Nyema seemed surprised that I came out of my little room as quickly as I did. She recovered in a quick second, and then we were off down the hall. I didn't need to ask where we were going, because she started talking almost instantly.

"We'll get you something to eat just as soon as we get those powers of yours in check, alright?" she asked, glancing up at back. I was probably two and a half feet taller than her, so she had to really crane her head around.

"It didn't sound like it was going to be an easy process – do I not get to eat for a few months?" I asked bitterly. I hadn't meant to sound so sour, but it didn't seem to bother the mouse demoness.

"Goodness, no!" she laughed. "Full training will take some time, that's true. This morning Woden is just putting on something more temporary."

"And what are we 'putting on'?" I asked skeptically.

"Why, wards of course," Nyema responded casually.

* * *

A/N: Readers! Many of you have chosen a slightly expedited story line, so I'm going to do my best to pick up the pace a little. Fear not! Maggie's development will still get the attention it deserves; we'll just have a bit of a training montage (as much as I hate montages).

And gosh golly gee I wonder who Kurama is going to see in the Makai?

I must say, thank you all SO MUCH for your patience as I take forever to write this. It's definitely the more difficult of the two to write, but is much more popular, it seems! I personally prefer Hiei-type men to Kurama-type, which makes this SO MUCH HARDER to write. I think about writing sometimes and just say "ugh. I don't wanna." But – being a writer – it's not really my choice. If I don't write it, the story just gets caught up in my head and swirls around until I can't think of anything else, and there are other things I WANT to be writing, but can't, because PBP is taking up so much room.

I don't know if Maggie and I would have been friends if she was a real person – Aria and I would have been BFF, but Maggie… I don't know.

Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Guest, Counting Sinful Stars, Melissa Fairy, versailles214, Chibisensei110787, Tsuki Kitsune Moon Fox, Sanguinary Tide, Divine Demonic Assassin, TiaKay, Emzybubble, SilverDragonsTail, Elicorn, Yuuki no Yuki, Akara Suzuki, OfficerShadowcat, UzumakiRaven, Guest, Hermetics, Nevermorea, tyedyeoreo1015, SlytherclawQueen, Sydney Dominguez, Ground-Cinnamon, Sombra- The Resurrection, Tay, Distractionforyourthoughts, darkknightwriter, and Biku-sensei-sez-meow!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	22. I Wanna Get Better

I stopped dead in the hall. "What the hell are you trying to pull here?" I growled, and the floor started to tremble. Nyema either didn't notice, or didn't care.

"Check your emotions, Hana. Woden is a demon of great respect around the Makai – he will not harm you."

"You want to _ward_ me again!" I roared, and the shaking of the world around me intensified. Nyema had to cover her ears when I yelled, for the Song was making me that much louder.

Nyema uncovered her ears, and held out her hands placatingly."This will not be like before. Please, follow me so that he can explain," she spoke soothingly, but I didn't want to hear it.

I crossed my arms and stood my ground. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Mousie! 'Oo's shakin' the walls all ta 'ell?" a booming voice echoed down the hall, and a massive figure approached. He was tall – over seven feet – with old white hair and a thick beard, and bright blue eyes peeking out from under bushy eyebrows. He looked like a cross between a Viking and Santa.

"Well 'ullo there," he greeted with a smile – at least his moustache turned up at the corners, so I assume it was a smile.

"Hana, this is Woden," Nyema introduced the giant. Her expression alone said _this is not how I wanted you to meet._ Woden held out his massive hand to shake.

I jerked my chin up, and didn't uncross my arms."You're going to tell me how these wards aren't like other wards?"

Woden let his hand fall back to his side, seemingly unperturbed by my rude manner. "Aye, I am."

"So talk," I commanded.

Woden snorted. "Well aren't ye jus' full of piss and fire!"

"I beg your pardon!" I exclaimed, my arms uncrossing as my body went a little slack.

Woden waved one big hand, as if he could wave my anger away with a gentle waft of air. "Oh, don' lose yer 'ead, it's a compliment!"

"You just said I was full of _piss_ and _fire_ – how is that a compliment!" I yelled, and the floors shook again.

The Viking laughed, belly shaking with mirth I failed to see. "You're a little shit, aye!" He leaned down so that we were face to face. "Tell me, little shit, do ye wanna break me nose? Ya think ye _can_?"

"I know I'll break every bone in your body before I let someone ward me again."

"Oh, little shit, ye don' know anything at all," Woden sighed wistfully, with another twitch of a smile. "My be _au_ tiful wards will tickle and dance on yer skin only 'til they feel the right tickle and dance in return, ya ken?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Woden will make wards for you that will suppress your energy until you use a harmonic tone to dissolve them," Nyema supplied, clearly growing tired of the huge man's ramblings. "Your energy won't be completely suppressed, just… muted a little. You'll dissolve your own wards as your control improves."

Many of my objections fell away after that. I stopped shaking the walls and the floor, and Woden escorted me to the tiny room where he worked. It looked like a tattoo parlor someone had shoved into a closet – not because the room was that small, but because Woden was so large. There was a padded stool for me to sit on, and a great big chair for Woden. I don't imagine anything smaller would have held his weight.

"Now, don' panic, but these go one while I'm workin', ya ken? Can' have you shakin' the stuff off before it gets goin'!" Woden held up a stack of paper wards – just like those from the mansion. "I swear they come righ' off," he promised, and the earnest expression on his face convinced me.

"Ok," I agreed. Woden was very gently as me placed the paper wards, but it still hurt. I could feel the Song slipping away, but as Woden used a greater number of weaker wards, it wasn't so sudden as before.

"Ready, little shit?" Woden cracked a grin, and held up something that looked an awful lot like a tattoo gun.

I could only nod; my mouth already felt like it was filled with cotton, and my hands were clammy.

* * *

It took _hours._

To clarify – it took seventeen hours, and forty-nine minutes.

 _It took hours._

I had tried not to squirm too much as the large demon focused on my arms. Suppressive wards on paper hurt plenty, thank you very much, but tattooed is another matter entirely.

Woden would complete about ten of the hundreds of thousands of repeating little designs, and pull off one of the paper wards. This left me in a strange state of being over-warded and then dropped to the right level, and the constant switching made me nauseous.

When the last paper ward came off, and Woden wiped off my arms with a damp cloth, I breathed a long sigh of relief.

"So how do I look?" I asked Nyema, flexing my arms. The ink didn't behave quite right – it didn't shine at the same level of usual skin, but was just a little too matte; it sucked up more light than it should have.

Nyema shrugged. "Same as before, only with a few more decorations." She titled her head to one side. "How do you feel?"

I closed my eyes, feeling for the spike of emotions that came with every second. There was Song, sure, but it was more like a little puddle way, way down. I opened my eyes, and extended my palm towards a ceramic mug on a shelf. I called on that little puddle of Song, and it trembled in trying to answer the call.

Nothing happened.

I focused on the Song again, brow furrowed in concentration. Sweat beaded on my forehead as the tiny reservoir of Song tried to rise from the great emptiness. It finally bubbled over, and the ceramic mug trembled on the shelf.

The mug rattled from side to side, and after the longest twenty seconds I could imagine, it fell off the shelf and shattered.

I dropped my arm, suddenly exhausted.

"Ah! Look!" Nyema cried, pointing to my arm. One of the thousands of tiny wards up by my elbow was fading. I could feel the Song rise by a single drop in that nearly empty wellspring.

"Hey! I got one!" I yelled, a grin breaking out on my face!

"You got one!" Nyema echoed, her excitement rising

"I got one!" I clasped her hands, and we danced in a little circle together, laughing like children.

"Don' give any ta me, I've got enough problems," Woden muttered.

* * *

Kurama stared at the darkening horizon, face a picture of frustration. _Where are you?_ He sent the thought out, hoping the Jaganshi might hear it and answer.

No such luck. His search for Hiei was proving as fruitless as his search for Maggie. Hiei and Aria hadn't been seen at their usual haunts in quite some time, and no one could provide direction.

Hiei hadn't been to Gandara or Tourin recently – they had last been seen retrieving Aria's heavy winter coat from Gandara almost a month ago.

One more kingdom to try. Kurama breathed heavily – not quite a sigh. It was more to relieve some of his overwhelming exasperation. Hiei didn't owe him anything – anyone, really – so he felt no need to inform anyone where he would be traveling. The only person who would need to know was his wife, and Hiei made sure she was always by his side.

But it was frustrating. _So many things would be easier, Hiei…_ Kurama shook his head.

Off to Alaric.

* * *

I went back to school. Nyema had retrieved all that she could from the science centers of the Makai – while in some places were far more advanced than the Human World – but it was still somewhat lacking.

I could piece together what I remembered from science classes and the huge tomes that had been presented to me. The transmission of sound from an object to our ears, and then to our brains, is a really weird process. Go look it up – _what is sound_ – I'll wait.

There's no real easy answer, right?

Here's a confusing definition: _"In physics, sound is a vibration that propagates as a typically audible mechanical wave of pressure and displacement, through a medium such as air or water. Sound is transmitted through gases, plasma, and liquids as longitudinal waves, also called compression waves. It requires a medium to propagate. Through solids, however, it can be transmitted as both longitudinal waves and transverse waves. Longitudinal sound waves are waves of alternating pressure deviations from the equilibrium pressure, causing local regions of compression and rarefaction, while transverse waves (in solids) are waves of alternating shear stress at right angle to the direction of propagation."_

Confusing gobbledygook.

It comes down to no one really knowing how to define sound without using the word "hearing", and if they manage to avoid using the word "hear", no one can understand it at all.

If a book falls off the desk, and no one is in the room, does it make a sound? Depends on who you ask.

But that's enough from the literature. "School" itself was far more than sitting and reading, I'm afraid. The reading part was definitely in the minority – Nyema made sure of that.

And every day we ran. We ran for miles. We ran for _miles_.

It started out at just running for the first few days, but as we began to pick up the pace and go for longer and longer distances, I had to use my little reservoir of Song for the extra strength. This was unbelievably intense training, and I just couldn't keep up otherwise.

But Nyema always noticed – and although she would praise me later when another warding mark vanished, it meant she would step up the pace the next day as well.

On a particularly shitty day – it was raining – I reached a breaking point. We were running, and the rain was pounding down on us, and I had all but used up my little wellspring of energy to keep the pace. I was exhausted, but still doggedly doing my best.

I tripped over my own feet, but managed to recover quickly. I kept running, and this awful monologue started in my head.

 _Don't trip_ , the voice said. _Don't trip or you'll die. They'll drag you through the forest and pull you apart and let you die. Don't trip. Don't stop._

I knew Nyema wasn't like that, but that horrible voice inside my head wouldn't stop. _Don't trip don't trip don't die don't trip don't stop don't die_ it said over and over and over again.

I started to panic.

I could hear the jingling of chains and shuffling of feet.

My breath caught in my throat and panic started to rise.

"Keep going, Hana!" Nyema was encouraging me.

"I can't," I panted. I could barely see. Panic was strangling me, pouring from an endless fountain behind my chest. My eyes pushed out tears and the blood rushed away from my hands and feet, leaving them numb.

Her face grew serious. "If you stop now I will attack you – are you prepared for that?"

I was shaking all over, and even though I was covered in a flop-sweat my mouth and throat were bone dry. I had lost the ability to think or speak coherently, and just nodded as I slowed to a crawl. I didn't quite comprehend what I had agreed to, and even though Nyema could clearly see I wasn't in a mentally sound position to defend myself she showed no mercy.

She attacked – the tiny, seemingly harmless little mouse demon moved just slow enough for me to still see her. "Charge your muscles with energy! There's no reason for you to move this slowly with all that strength!"

I was going to say I didn't have energy left, but as she attacked me the wellspring burst forth with Song – a last hurrah, it seemed. I pushed Song into my arms, and they hummed painfully – my bones were unaccustomed to being rattled like that.

Nyema snatched a thick branch from the ground, and swung it at my arms. It broke in half violently – wet, green splinters flying everywhere – the instant it made contact with my arms. I jumped backwards in case Nyema swung again, but she seemed satisfied, and dropped the remaining half of the branch.

She smiled, nodding approvingly. "Better," she praised.

I crossed my arms over my chest, intent on chewing her out, but I got distracted. Glancing down, I noticed that my arms had developed a dark, angry red hue. "What the hell?" I muttered.

Nyema followed my gaze and sighed. "You were careless and ruptured blood vessels everywhere," she shook her head. "Well, at least it's still inside your body. Let's go, Hana."

Nyema brought me back inside the fortress fairly quickly. We were ushered out of the halls even faster – someone important was coming, apparently. They didn't want people like me in view – goodness knows what someone important might think?

I walked slowly just to annoy the guards. It made me smile.

* * *

Kurama was escorted down what was certainly a circuitous route inside the fortress, ensuring that he was both lost, and had not passed any rom of importance. It was entirely unnecessary – Mukuro didn't hoard treasure of any kind, so what use would a fox have to break in?

Kurama restrained an impatient sigh as they passed one of the same halls for the third time. _I really don't have the time for these games_ , he thought. But caution could not be thrown to the wind just yet. It would do well to play the game, for now.

He was eventually – _finally_ – escorted to Mukuro's grand hall. It had once been her throne room, but ever since Enki had been made Makai's king it was more of a gathering area where she received visitors.

"Kurama, what a surprise. What can I do for you?" Mukuro didn't look at all surprised, but she had certainly done her best to appear so– she was seated at a random spot along the grand table, eating some sliced fruit.

Kurama stood across from her, arms clasped behind his back. It was a vaguely threatening gesture in the Makai – a _guess what I might be hiding_ gesture. Mukuro did not offer him a seat. Kurama kept his tone measured and placating in contrast to his posture. "I need to find Hiei, and was hoping you had some clue as to his whereabouts."

Mukuro blinked once, and went back to eating her fruit. "My lieutenant and his strange wife haven't been around for some time. They send her journals and samples occasionally – they're cluttering up my archives; care to see?"

Kurama surmised she was deliberately acting dim. A more direct tone would be needed. "Not today. Do you have any idea where they might be headed?"

Mukuro chewed her food longer than was necessary, giving rise to a long silence. "Given the types of samples, I would hazard a guess that they're headed into the mountains. What's this about?"

Weighing whether or not honestly was indicated, Kurama shifted his stance slightly. It was not missed by Mukuro's robotic eye. "I am searching for a woman who was sold into slavery," he admitted.

Mukuro was very quiet. "Is that so?" she asked slowly.

Kurama's eyes narrowed. "What do you know about it?"

She shrugged. "Not much. Less than you, I'm sure."

Kurama had to bite his tongue to keep it from acting out of turn. "I find it hard to believe that anything could happen in Alaric without your full awareness of all its aspects, _Lord_ Mukuro." He bit at her demotion with feigned regard. Mukuro's relaxed position at the table suddenly looked very forced.

She paused, and turned a slow, disquieting smile to the fox. "I'm certain you would forgive momentary lapses in observation – I cannot have eyes everywhere; I'm afraid they've all gone on honeymoon."

So they were at an impasse.

Kurama drew the photo of Maggie from his pocket. "I'm looking for this woman. Her name was Maggie, but she might be calling herself Hana." Mukuro's eyes drifted down to the photograph. There was no increase in heartrate, or dilation of pupils, or change in expression to betray her thoughts – the demoness was much too old for that.

"This is a human woman," Mukuro observed.

"Yes," Kurama confirmed. He continued to hold out the photo, which Mukuro did not take. She stared at it a little while longer, and slowly slid her gaze over to him.

"The great Youko Kurama is in love with a human woman?" She smiled in a way that did not reach her eyes. "How quaint."

Kurama shoved the photo back in his pocket with more force than he had intended. "Hiei was headed North, correct?"

"By all appearances, yes," Mukuro started to peel a different piece of fruit. "But I wouldn't bother – the winter snows will close the pass at Rhyion soon, and you won't be able to get through until Spring."

Kurama nodded his head in the smallest of bows. "Thank you for your guidance."

Mukuro did not return the gesture. "A pleasure, I'm sure."

* * *

I walked down the hall at a brisk pace, rubbing my arms with my hands. Bursting my own blood vessels was pretty uncomfortable, and although Nyema was a skilled healer my arms still tingled a little, and my ears were still ringing a little from the smack she had given me upside the head for walking too slowly.

I turned a corner, and caught the briefest glance of a shock of red turning the next corner far down the hall. I blinked rapidly, and shook my head. _Nyema must have rung my bell pretty good for me to be seeing things_. I could have sworn – even in that briefest glance- but no… it couldn't be.

I shook my head again to clear it, and strode into Mukuro's grand hall.

"That damn plant master is the bane of my existence," Mukuro grumbled.

"What happened?"

"Kurama – a plant master with an _itch_ , it would seem – has a preference for demanding information he has no right to. He's looking for your kind."

The thought only inspired terror. "You didn't tell him I was here, did you?" Anyone looking for escaped human-demon slaves could only mean trouble. Had the Lord of the Manor finally come looking for restitution? Or a long-lost relative of Scar or Carl? Or someone from the Factory?

Mukuro watched the various shades of terror flicker across my face. "Mm. I offered to send you his way, but he declined. He's looking for someone specific."

I sagged in relief. "Thank you," I whispered.

"Don't thank me yet – I have a job for you." She beckoned me to follow.

Not far down the hall from my own bedroom, it turned out, was a very small room – not much larger than Woden's 'tattoo parlor', and it was stuffed to the brim with little glass jars and books and – _is that a plant growing out of the ceiling?_ I thought.

"What's all this?" I asked, trying to peer further into the room.

"My first lieutenant and his wife are on a foolish mission to catalogue all plant life in the Makai. In their endeavor they are imposing on the limited storage of my archives, and it is beginning to try my patience," Mukuro growled.

I was hesitant to ask. "What do you want me to do with it?"

She shrugged and tossed a hand dismissively. "I don't care, just deal with it." She turned on her heel abruptly, and left me standing in front of the disaster alone.

I rocked on my feet for a few minutes, trying to figure out where to start. I could just barely squeeze into the room and close the door behind me. I wondered if my new strength would protect me from being crushed to death if the piles collapsed.

The room did have ample shelving – I could see it through the glass jars – it just looked like no one had ever bothered to place anything _on_ the shelves. I would need to pull everything out of the room, and then start a catalog system from scratch.

Oy.

I picked up a random journal, and opened to the first page.

 _As one might have guessed, Dragonsbane is an appropriately named plant – when cut, the leaves excrete an interesting sap that will burn through any substance or container – take all appropriate precautions when handling sample (vii). Trifoliate red leaves and deep burgundy flowers exhibit a bitter aroma, pollinators: (?). Berries taste awful. Grows low to the ground, but prefers full sunlight and moderate climates. However – due to incendiary properties may survive in much harsher climates. Appears to be related to the invasive fire-flowers that plagued Gandara's forests. Monitor for invasive properties._

There were a few more plant entries, and almost all were accompanied by a sketch or two. At the very bottom of each page, it was signed: _Aria._

I snapped the journal shut, and tucked it under my arm. "Well, Aria – nice to meet you. Let's get started on this mess, shall we?"

* * *

A/N: Damn, this chapter was long. I'm honestly amazed I got it written as quickly as this, because it started out maybe a paragraph long three days ago.

I know you guys have missed Maggie's real personality dearly, and I hope this chapter has shown you that she is becoming more than just a shell of a person living in fear. Maggie is rediscovering herself as she trains, and it shows good promise!

And – because I know you, readers – don't get too angry at Mukuro for concealing Maggie, and lying to Maggie directly about being asked for. We already know that Mukuro keeps her cards close to her chest, and that she took in the slaves just so she could have Maggie's power in her arsenal. Are you really surprised that she wasn't all like 'oh yeah she's in the back, let me get her for you so that she can leave forever'. She knows that once Kurama finds Hiei the gig will be up, but (in my head, anyway) she knows she can get a lot of use out of Maggie before Kurama tracks him down.

Also doesn't help that Maggie only knows him as Shuichi. Damn that name barrier.

Many thanks to my reviewers: TiaKay, Melissa Fairy, Akara Suzuki, Divine Demonic Assassin, Guest, Tsuki Kitsune Moon Fox, Devious Neko Boi, Nevermorea, Black Firelight, SilverDragonsTail, tyedyeoreo1015, and Counting Sinful Stars!

(Don't get spoiled that this came out in less than a day after the last!)

PLEASE REVIEW!


	23. Vita corde

The Northern mountain range of the Makai is known as the Teeth – not only for the tall, sharp spires that cut high into the atmosphere, but for the biting winds that rush and whistle between them. When winter arrived, deep drifting snows would settle in the paths between the Teeth like thick plaque, making an already treacherous path impassable.

And yet there was Kurama, trudging through waist-deep snow, struggling to get through the mountains.

Kurama pulled his hood down tighter over his face as another rush of wind threatened to carry him away. He didn't dare look up to see how much of the distance still remained. He didn't imagine that it would be an encouraging sight.

Far, far behind him, his little mountain guide was struggling to keep up. "The Teeth are not kind, my Lord!" his guide tried to yell over the wind. "Please – let us turn back!" The weather had borne down on them as soon as they walked out the door – a tempest seemingly intended for the sole purpose of keeping Kurama south of the mountains.

 _There are no plants that live north of the Teeth_ , Kurama thought. _Why did you come this way, Hiei?_

"My Lord, _please,_ " the demon begged. "I will send word the _very instant_ the pass is clear, but we _must_ turn back _now_ or risk never making it back at all."

Kurama pulled back the hood, and the wind roared across his face. He looked up, up at the Teeth , then turned back to see how far he had walked. Kurama's heart dropped into his gut; he had barely covered a mile in the entire day – the cabin where he had hired the guide was still within sight.

 _So close; and yet so far._

 _Can you hear me, Hiei?_

No answer.

 _Hiei, can you hear me?_

…

Kurama turned around, and started making his way back down the mountain.

 _I'm so sorry, Maggie._

* * *

I sneezed violently. _I didn't think it was_ _ **that**_ _dusty in here_ , I thought, blinking a few times to clear the spots that had appeared in my vision.

"What did you _do_ with all of it?" Nyema gaped at the space I had managed to clear in the room. My friend dropped by from time to time just to make sure I wasn't literally buried by some crazy landslide of journals and jars.

I laughed lightly, standing on my tip toes to put a jar on a high shelf. "As it turns out, if you actually _use_ the shelves in a room, it keeps the piles from getting too large."

"It looks amazing in here – I don't think this room has ever been this neat…" Nyema glanced around, spotting the little shelf that held most of Mukuro's other archives – it was a very small shelf.

No on in the Makai seemed to care much for keeping historical records, and it made me very sad. I wondered if anyone had bothered to record major historical events, or if things were simply lost to history when the oldest demon finally passed away.

"Like I said – miracles occur when you clean." I turned to make a face at Nyema, but she was already gone. The little demoness had a tendency to disappear on me – which was more than a little weird – but I didn't feel the need to question it further.

I wondered sometimes if she was only my friend because Mukuro assigned her to make sure I didn't kill more soldiers. I shook the thought by diving back into my work.

There was a wonderful vine growing around the edges of the room. It had sweet yellow blossoms the size of buttercups, and dime-sized leaves that grew in funny little clusters. Aria had called it Dime-plant (for the small, dime-sized leaves I was sure), but I had taken to calling it _Amicus anguli_ – a friend of the corner. It seemed to enjoy growing only in the tiny spaces of corners, and where walls met.

I re-named a lot of Aria's plants, just because her originality seemed to be lacking. Fire-dandelion, for one, was swiftly renamed _Tactus incensum –_ touch-fire. It seemed more appropriate to give things Latin classifications as a part of cataloging hundreds of thousands of plants. I knew that at some point in the future there would be a conflict when two plants that were actually related would need to be renamed, but I decided to worry about that later.

Dragon's Bane became _Draco unguibus (dragon claws) –_ I did rather like that name so I tried to stay true to the original - Sooty root became _Cinereo pedes_ (ash feet), Umbrella plant became _lux amans_ (light lover). Names began to change from what a plant looked like to what it _was_.

There was one poor plant that had a truly terrible name – Death's odor. It really did smell amazingly terrible. I only opened the jar once, nearly choked to death on it, and resealed the jar with glue. But according to Aria's notes, it was an incredibly useful plant – its nectar (also foul smelling) could be used to treat any number of ailments, most importantly poisoning – but you had to be on death's door to get the damn stuff down someone's throat. I renamed it _Vita corde_ – life heart.

That's how I went from sitting in a room of strange friends, to being surrounded by _Furor terram (Earth's fury), Pia cor_ (loving heart) _,_ and _Parva mare (small sea)._ It was beautiful music shaped into words.

There were plants that didn't _do_ anything. They were just plants. No biting, no glowing, no healing properties. They were green tufts that sat on the ground. Or at least it seemed that way.

I nearly shrieked one evening when I lost the light in the room (knocked over a candle?), and a jar in the far, far corner of the room started to glow. Bio-luminescence. It was renamed _Stella timidos –_ the shy star.

 _Who needs people around,_ I thought, _with friends like these?_

* * *

That's how I lived for… honestly I don't know how long. Every so often a – very nervous and bowing and scraping – demon would appear at my door, overburdened with more sample jars and journals that Aria had left at some checkpoint along her meandering path.

These demons always arrived in pairs – one large one to carry the delivery itself, and one that I knew from Mukuro's personal guard; Woden or Nyema were fairly consistent escorts. It was a very pleasant and considerate move. I imagine it was to prevent having to scrub bloodstains off the walls and floor, and less for my actual benefit, but it put me at ease knowing I wouldn't be surprised.

And so it went, me myself and I locked away in a little back room, humming quietly to a thousand little plants. The humming was soothing for me, and I found I could do it without even using my lungs. I could make my body resonate with a hum, and something resembling a purr if I tweaked my energy just so. That resonance was particularly soothing for both myself and the more ornery plants.

But the good times always have to end, don't they?

"Hana?" My peace was interrupted late one evening by Nyema's familiar trill.

"In the back!" I called from behind one of the shelves I had made someone build for me. They were kind of like library shelves, but stacked so close I almost couldn't squeeze between them. I was going to need to expand the room (or, you know, move) soon, or risk running out of real estate.

Nyema entered the little room slowly, hands clasped behind her back. She peered into a little jar on a low shelf, and the little plant inside shuddered and a flower that looked an awful lot like an eye blinked back at her, its petals fluffing like eyelashes.

"Are we training today?" I asked curiously, finally squeezing out from around the shelf. Nyema had been working tirelessly with me for almost a month, and then I was left t my own devices in the Archive for another month – I hadn't seen her in more than a week and was surprised to see her in that moment. "Or is there a delivery coming?" Sometimes Nyema liked to warn me that someone was coming – an additional courtesy I appreciated.

She shook her head, smiling. "Lord Mukuro says you're ready to go to Court." She was bouncing a little on her feet with excitement.

I was just confused. "I'm sorry – _where_?"

* * *

Nyema chattered incessantly about how _wonderful_ it was that I was going to Court so soon after arriving in Alaric. After a blunt 'what the hell is Court?' she finally explained the Makai's – rather recent – form of governing. Kind Enki had won the last Tournament, so was set to rule until the next bloodbath rolled around. He kept a Court of Lords and advisers to debate on the issues of the day. For one, he was responsible for most of the laws protecting humans.

I was surprised to learn that Mukuro and the other stewards (who I had heard very little about) theoretically held seats here, though they rarely attended – if ever, apparently, in the case of the steward of Tourin.

Nyema was still talking after she took me back to my room, but I didn't really hear anything beyond _blah, blah blah, blah, blah blah blah_ because all I could see was a truly horrible-looking garment laid out on my bed.

"You have got to be kidding me!" I interrupted in the middle of Nyema's explanation I had long since stopped listening to, pointing at the _thing_ on my bed.

It took her a minute to realize I wasn't, in fact, responding to her explanation of tax law. She blinked at me, and then looked at the dress on my bed. "Lord Mukuro sent it just for you," she said, as if that explained everything.

It was blue. And it looked expensive. I didn't want to touch it.

"Lord Mukuro – have you _met_ Mukuro? I doubt she owns a single skirt, let alone something like _this?!_ " I picked up the dress and held it up to emphasize my point.

"I understand that she had it made just for you," Nyema wheedled at me. "Can't you just try it on?

I gave her my nastiest look. She resisted my glare with a stoic professionalism.

" _Fine,_ " I snarled, bunching the dress up under my arm and stalking into the next room to change.

The damn dress fit perfectly, I'd give her that. But as I put it on, and tried to cover a few of my less flattering flaws, I realized it was nigh impossible.

The dress had a tight collar, with two strips of gathered fabric attached in front, and a single thin strap attached in back that barely covered my spine. These three strips attached to a snug waist band that turned into a gauzy, flowy skirt. The two strips of fabric in front concealed my breasts quite well, but left exposed my horrible Core scar on breastbone from when the Factory cracked my chest open. The sleeveless nature of the gown showed the scars encircling my elbows, shoulders, and wrists, not to mention the myriad of warding tattoos that still lingered. The gauzy strips of the skirt flowed away from my legs, showing the scars on my legs.

The dress showed _every single scar_.

Furious energy poured out from me in waves, and the room started to tremble. "Hana, _please!_ " Nyema yelled, banging on the bathroom door.

I was cycling down a spiral of anger and self-loathing all expressing as a shaking in my body, then projecting outwards. Something cracked in the wall, and a corner of the ceiling dropped an inch or so – finally distracting me enough to get my feelings under control.

" _What the hell_ -" I was prepared to roar into a furious tirade when I burst out of the bathroom, face flushed with the excitement, but was cut off my Lord Mukuro's displeased face.

 _Whoops._

"Hana, control yourself," she said in her usual soft voice. She sounded almost disappointed in me.

Most of the anger rushed out of me as quickly as it had come, and I was left only with that self-loathing, and fresh embarrassment.

"I don't understand," I mumbled, speaking to my toes.

Mukuro chuckled quietly, her moment of disappointment seemingly passed as swiftly as my anger. "Hiding your scars would mean you are ashamed of them."

"But I _am!_ " I protested.

"I am sending you to Court to sit in my seat, as my representative. I cannot have you show weakness." Her face was deadly serious. "If you wear them proudly, do you think any demon in his right mind is going to ask how they came to be?" Mukuro smiled slyly. "If you were to conceal them, and they were seen, they might raise questions. Shown like this, you will never hear a remark other than 'what a beautiful gown, my Lady'."

I couldn't believe the massive amount of responsibility she was resting on my damaged shoulders. "I have absolutely no idea what one does at Court," I threw out.

"Woden will be escorting you, and he is familiar with the processes. That's all – you should prepare to leave now," she dismissed the protest on my lips without letting me say a sound, and promptly left.

I scowled at the door as she closed it behind her.

The door didn't seem to care.

Nyema bowed low. "My _Lady_ , shall we prepare your belongings to travel?"

My scowl intensified, and she laughed.

* * *

A/N: Readers – thank you for your patience as I got my shit together. I've spent a lot of time working on the overarching plot for this story, how it relates to WD, and how the two tie together. As you might have noticed, there is an additional line added to the story descriptions for both WD and PBP – indicating that yes, they are much more interconnected.

I was having a lot of trouble understanding how they would work together, and I felt like there was something severely lacking. I did get a lot worked out, both for Maggie, and for the story that ties it all together. You all will just have to WAIT (oh noes) to find out how! It **might** have something to do with PART 3 just being started, but you won't be getting any spoilers there.

In the meantime; if you read Waking Dreams (and sorta liked it), make sure to go read the one-shot that was just released ("What Happened After") and review there, too!

MANY THANKS to my reviewers: TiaKay, Divine Demonic Assassin, Nevermorea, Akara Suzuki, Chibisensei110787, Elicorn, Counting Sinful Stars, SilverDragonsTail, versailles214, Tay, tyedyeoreo1015, Melissa Fairy, SailorDeath13, Guest, LateNightOwl, Mikila94, BarbyChan4ever, and himeko63!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	24. No Problem So Bad

I didn't sleep well anymore, so I spent a lot of time in the evenings getting to know the Song. It wasn't recommended that I work on it alone, but so far I had yet to bring the building down around my ears.

I would sit in darkness, pulsing sound back and forth between my hands. Little sparks of light flashed in the empty space – _sonoluminescence –_ as the thrumming sensation soothed my tender nerves. With each evening that I practiced alone – making light, moving objects, and trying to bend light itself – a few more warding tattoos faded away. A few stuck around no matter how much I practiced, and I couldn't help but wonder what skill I was lacking.

With the hollowness that lived in my chest, I should have known.

I was focused on a growing anxiety as well – that I would perform horribly at Court, and either embarrass myself and Mukuro, or get myself killed in my ignorance.

And so it was that the night before I was set to arrive at the Court of Makai, I was lying on the floor, wrapped in my blankets, creating winking stars overhead. The floor thrummed only lightly with the residual soundwaves that escaped from my control.

I didn't really like sleeping in the beds – they were uncomfortably soft, and often situated much too close to the door for my comfort. So I tended to sleep on the floor, tucked away in a corner on a pile of blankets.

I sometimes wondered if it had anything to do with my brief enslavement. It hadn't been more than a week or two, but it was a pivotal time in my life. It shaped me more than all the years before it, and likely more than anything else to come.

I felt like a fraud, somehow. I felt like I wasn't allowed to be as traumatized as I was – after all, there were thousands of slaves who lived hundreds of years in that state. My paltry two weeks felt like throwing insults in the face of their loss. I didn't deserve the shame and trauma that I felt – I hadn't suffered _enough_.

I rolled over in my nest, and traced random shapes on the floor. My finger hummed against the stone-like floor, carving little channels into the hard substance. It was something to do to avoid thinking too much, but it never seemed to help; I just ended up ruining the floor.

 _Just let me sleep_ , I willed the World. I sighed and closed my eyes, hoping against hope for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Days later, Kurama could still feel the chill of the mountain biting at his face. It felt like he was being taunted for turning back, for abandoning his mission half-way. It felt like giving up.

He could reason that it wasn't giving up; it made no sense to attempt to trudge through the Teeth in the middle of winter because there was only a small chance he would make it. He was making a tactical pause while he waited for Spring – for the pass to Hiei to clear.

He was haunted by images of what Maggie might be enduring while he was headed for home. There was no way to know if she was still _alive_.

 _No,_ Kurama thought, _she's still alive._ She might be tortured, enslaved, mutilated, but she would live. She would live because she had decided to. She was a warrior, and she _had_ to survive. She had decided to live in the face of her cancer, and she would decide to live now.

Kurama leaned forward slightly from his seat on the bench to rest his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together.

Kurama's thoughts were utterly consumed by the woman. It was almost distressing to realize that he had become obsessed with this search – this seemingly pointless quest to save one person from a web of pain and suffering that expanded far beyond the horizon. He didn't have a logical reason for his obsession, which confused him further.

She was a fairly attractive woman, and intelligent. She seemed kind, and her smile pleased him. Beyond that, there wasn't a good reason for his need to find her. A sense of obligation, maybe?

Kurama had been able to smell her cancer – it was hard to hide the scent of death that lingered around a person – when they first met. It hadn't been a surprise, but he was pleased when she chose to tell him. A life shortened by cancer was still significantly shorter than a demon's life span – it didn't make much of a significant difference compared to the humans around her, not when compared to Kurama's life expectancy.

But when she revealed her secret, Kurama was pleased that she trusted him enough to talk about it. At the same time it left the bitter tang of unspoken secrets on his own tongue. There were many medicines not available in the Human World that would have been available to her if he in turn revealed his secret. But it seemed inappropriate at the time, and he was worried about her reaction, so he stayed silent.

In his silence, Maggie chose another avenue. It was a shadowy path that led far, far away. It consumed her and snuffed whatever light might have been ahead.

Was he really responsible? Maggie had opened the door on her own, but it was possible that his presence had turned her towards it.

Her very act of choosing to live had made him... happy? He wanted her to fight past her cancer; to live for a few more seconds. She was a bright poppy in a field of white lilies, breaking the monotony of the world around her. Kurama enjoyed her company – teasing her, talking with her, bringing out reactions in her incredibly expressive face.

He wanted to see her again. To hear her laugh. To see her smile. To touch her skin, and taste her kiss.

It was a strangely powerful reaction to a short meeting. She was a strange treasure – one that had been fleeting, and now held a permanence that was just out of reach. A Youko would not be denied his treasure.

"Oi! Kurama!" Yusuke was waving from across the grand hall, and Kurama stood swiftly. He could not forget why he had stopped in at Enki's palace, after all.

"You look like shit, man," Yusuke commented, rocking back on his heels momentarily.

"I assure you I am quite well," Kurama replied.

Yusuke shrugged it off easily. "Eh, it's your funeral. So what's up? I couldn't believe my ears when Hokushin told me you were here."

Kurama pulled the photo of Maggie out of his pocket. "This is… a friend of mine. Her name is Maggie, though she may be calling herself Hana now… if you hear anything, would you send word?"

"She looks human," Yusuke muttered, turning his head to look at the photo sideways, as if that would help clear up his confusion.

Kurama shifted his footing, preparing for the questions that were inevitably about to follow. "She _is_ human, Yusuke."

Yusuke's eyes snapped up to Kurama's face. "What the hell is she doing here?" he barked, a little too loudly. Kurama waved his hands gently, gesturing for Yusuke to lower his voice.

"You heard about the Factory?" he explained quietly.

"Yeah, but- no way… _seriously?_ You managed to get mixed up in that?" Yusuke's voice returned to too-loud as realization broke over him.

Kurama nodded, giving up on shushing his companion. "I'm afraid so. Unfortunately I was unable to reach Hiei, who would be much better equipped to assist me."

Yusuke crossed his arms tightly over his chest, frowning. "Yeah, where is he, anyway? Nobody's heard from them in months. Should we be worried?"

Kurama chuckled lowly. "I imagine all of the Makai would know if he had died, so I don't suppose we should worry otherwise."

Yusuke nodded, and snapped his fingers as a light of sparked memory flashed in his eyes. "You sticking around? I hear they're bringing Mukuro's seat outta storage." Yusuke laughed to himself. "Maybe if she came around more than once a decade they might just leave it in one place."

Kurama grimaced; he hadn't known she was coming. "I'm afraid we did not last meet on the best of terms. I believe it would be best if I was not around when she arrives."

Yusuke scratched at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I should get back before Keiko forgets why she sticks around…"

Kurama's faint smile went unnoticed. "You'll send word if you hear anything?" he asked, turning the topic back to Maggie.

"Yeah, of course! Wait a second," Yusuke dug into his pockets, and pulled out a cell phone. "This thing is pretty much useless here – signal's not worth shit – but the camera still works ok." He snapped a photo of the picture in Kurama's hand. "Just in case I forget what I'm looking for."

"I appreciate it, Yusuke." Kurama was genuinely grateful – being a Lord, Yusuke had access to far more eyes and ears that could be trusted through the Makai. Kurama could coerce or force people to talk, but it just wasn't the same as someone offering or collecting information of their own free will.

Yusuke shrugged off the gratitude. "No big deal. Let me walk you out; we're headed the same way anyway."

* * *

The entrance to the Court of the Makai was relatively undecorated – a carved wood door that while large enough to let in a few elephants, seemed relatively understated.

There was no great announcement, no herald at the gate to proclaim my presence – which, let's face it, would have been strange. No, there was a small lizard demon who nodded to Woden (who nodded back), and then Woden led me to Mukuro's seat in the Hall. To be honest, it looked a lot more like a throne.

The whole space was very _Game of Thrones_. Each steward had a seat, set slightly elevated from the rest of the simpler seats in the hall. There was one greyish silver, one blue, and I could only assume the yellow-orange belonged to Mukuro herself. There was an attentive-looking bald monk seated for Tourin, and an ugly little frog-imp-thing for Gandara.

Up a set of three large steps, there was an even larger throne. I sort of expected it to be gold or something, but it was just carved wood – impressively carved, but still just wood. Maybe it was because the large demon occupying it would have warped a gold throne with his stature. I tried not to stare – red skin, horns, and a bazillion feet tall, it's hard not to stare – if only because he reminded me a little too much of some other ogre-sized demons I had once known.

I walked with as much confidence as I could project. I pretended I was Mukuro, which helped a little. As I sat in the sunset-yellow chair the monk from Tourin shot me only a half-glance, and the little demon from Gandara didn't even bother to look up form whatever doohickey was in his hands. Rude.

They were too far from me to encourage any kind of conversation between stewards, which was probably for the best. Woden took up a stance behind me, arms crossed over his massive chest.

Woden had given me a little coaching on our trip to Court, which basically consisted of a few general rules – don't murder people willy-nilly, and try to keep your insults civil. While I had expressed a general anxiety about being _completely unfit_ to take Mukuro's seat at Court, Woden just shrugged it off.

" _Lord Mukuro wouldn't send anybody who couldn't handle et,"_ was his go-to answer.

I didn't have any time to question my place in the room further, as all eyes were drawn to the King when he raised a closed fist, and the noise in the room fell to a hush.

"Good afternoon, trusted friends and advisors!" the King boomed over the crowd. "Thank you for choosing to join today in bettering the world around us. I appreciate the effort committed on your part, and hope we can work well together towards common goals."

And with that, Court was in session.

Most of the topics that were brought forth were relatively interesting – managing trade between the stewardships and the undeclared regions around them, settling a few arguments between land-holding demons who thought themselves of far greater importance than the rest of the room. I noticed that the representatives from Gandara and Tourin looked almost bored for much of the day; hardly speaking a word, and not bothering to look around the room at who was speaking. They remained as silent observers, watching the world for any change that might tip the scales against their lands.

The mood in the room changed swiftly in the late afternoon, however, when a lithe lavender-haired woman stood to address the Court from the middle of the gathered crowd.

I should have known that it was going to be bad when Woden slammed his hand down on my shoulder with iron force. I was started so badly I would have leapt out of the chair if Woden hadn't been holding me down. The tension in my body coiled like a spring, and as I was about to whisper to him about what on _Earth_ he was doing, I heard the reason.

The demoness cleared her throat haughtily. "Your Highness, let me turn your attention to the matter of the slave converts."My stomach churned, and my vision started to swim. "Granted, The Factories of the past have produced much of our understanding of our own capabilities, but this current endeavor," the demoness sighed. "I believe we must demand they suspend this little project. They are currently operating within an unforeseen loophole in your own laws, your Highness. These… _things_ are an abomination that can't possibly hope to integrate in either world. For their own sake they should be killed."

I like to think that Woden removed his hand from my shoulder because he was afraid of _losing_ it, and not because he was ordered to allow me to explode when the time was right. Honestly, I know which one it probably is, because I know Mukuro fairly well now, but I like to think that it was the first one.

There's a phrase that's popular among astronauts; **there is no problem so bad that you can't make it worse**. I laughed when I first heard it, simply because of how true it was in their profession – just getting into the tiny cockpit of a huge shuttle they would need to scuttle past a thousand little switches and try not to kick the wrong one accidentally. Keeping that in mind, they regularly – and willingly – climb on top of a very complicated bomb to launch themselves into space, cool as cucumbers.

Living in the Makai is slightly more dangerous, with problems less complicated and exceedingly deadly. So perhaps I should have kept that in mind before I leapt to my feet, turned, and declared for the entire Court to hear " _ **How dare you?!**_ _"_

All heads turned to stare at the previously silent representative from Alaric. I was thrumming with anger; the seats around me started to shake, and a few people scuttled away.

" **How** _ **dare**_ **you speak of us like that?!"** I yelled, and my voice was projected loud enough to ring painfully in everyone's ears. The floor around my feet cracked and buckled; the stone tearing as easily as paper in response to my wrath. Someone shrieked in fear, and though the majority of the hall around me cleared rather abruptly, the representatives from Gandara and Tourin remained in their seats and watched with interest.

I reigned in the destructive wrath enough to keep the hall from crumbling around me, and lowered the power of my voice, though it did not remove the biting tone. "I am not trash in the gutter that you can pity or ignore; I am not something shameful to hide away from questioning eyes!"

A golden-haired demon caught my eye, as he was still seated in the front row of the gallery with his arms crossed casually over his chest. His honey-toned eyes seemed overly relaxed compared to the palpable distress in the atmosphere.

But I turned my attention back to the demoness who had originally incited my rage. "Your pride and ignorance left room for my creation; your oversight and carelessness in protecting humans is what allowed for this abuse of my species! _You are responsible!_ " She cowered a little, but I felt no pity.

The room was deathly silent. Echoes of my frustration still bounced in the air. I continued with my volume only slightly reduced. "We are demons now; there's no changing that. You can't pick us out of a crowd unless we choose to be seen, and I don't imagine any of us would choose that. We certainly didn't agree to be changed so utterly." The fury was draining from my voice, only to be replaced by a raw emotion I would describe as something close to anguish. It had been difficult enough to come to terms with what I was in my own mind, let alone in such a public environment.

"You can't possibly know what we've been through, so don't act like you're doing us a favor when you sentence us to death simply because you don't like or understand what we are," I finished, and let the hall fall silent around me.

Every set of eyes on the room stayed glued to me in the most unnerving manner.

The King shifted in his huge chair, and the wood groaned a little. "Please," he asked gently, "educate us."

* * *

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

"M'Lady, ye might wanna stop tha' afore ye hurt yourself," Woden commented without making a move to stop me from repeatedly banging my head against the wall. I was probably going to leave a significant dent in the smooth surface before the night was out.

"Why did you let me do that?" I grumbled with my forehead braced against the wall. "I looked like a lunatic."

"Nah, ye seemed… passionate, m'Lady," Woden corrected. "If'n ye feel that sour about it, I hear there may'n'be some plants left here for you te 'liberate'," Woden over-enunciated.

I lifted my forehead off the wall. "Lady Aria left samples here?"

Woden gave me a smile that I felt was a little patronizing. "Aye; in Tourin and Gandara, too."

"Okay; let's go."

I changed out of the Court dress into something more conducive to working with dirt and plants – black leather pants – that more resembled leggings than anything else – and a sleeveless green top with a high tight neck. The tattoos and scars on my arms were left bare, but what else was new?

It felt so _right_ to be back in a little room, surrounded by paper-stuffed journals and little jars of plants. I felt a great weight lifted from my shoulders as I worked, examining plants and scribbling notes in the margins of Aria's journals.

I felt the world fall away at the edges, and a great peace settled around me if only for that one moment. This was my purpose, I felt, and this was how I was going to make the world around me feel right again, one tiny jar at a time.

There were a few duplicate samples, of course, showing variations in the plant coloration across a habitat range, or how the plant changed shape during maturation. I recorded the necessary information, and set aside the sample to send to Alaric.

There were new samples as well that needed classification. The plants collected seemed mostly to live in the environment in the immediate vicinity of the Palace, save for a small blue flower in a little jar, tucked way, way behind the other samples. It was such a small sample, it was curious that she hadn't been able to collect more. A tiny label was tacked to the bottom of the jar, identifying the page in the journal where I could find more information.

 _Guardian of Truth; when steeped in a tea the brew inspires truthful speaking in the drinker. Commonly used to settle arguments, but rarely located. Treat as extremely rare specimen. Grows behind the Teeth._

The name was easily translated into Latin; _Custos veritate_ , but I lingered on the strange conditions the plant preferred – the Teeth was not what I had expected. A tiny delicate flower growing in the harshest icy environment the Makai had to offer? It seemed absurd. It was a wonder that no one had tried transplanting somewhere warmer. I scribbled _for further study, once available_ under Aria's neat print in my own flowy cursive, and set the jar aside.

I had much left to do, and the strange plant soon drifted out of my mind.

* * *

Aside from showing me where the plant archives had been hidden in the Palace, Woden did his best to distract me from the stresses of Court.

"Righ', m'Lady – i's time for ya to learn how to use yer power properly!" he declared one morning over breakfast.

"I already know how to attack people, Woden," I replied curtly, scraping the bottom of my bowl with a spoon harshly. "Or have you forgotten what I can do?"

The Viking-Santa smirked, the edges of his thick moustache twitching upwards. "Aye, I know what ya can do, and it's piss-poor, m'Lady."

" _Excuse me?"_ I snarled, dropping my spoon.

He shrugged huge shoulders, and his chair protested a little at the shifting of weight."Sure, ya can shake the walls an' floor, and run as fas' as anyone, but wha' _else_?" He winked, and it seemed Woden was aware of my secret self-taught lessons. "Tha' sound Song in ye is migh'y strong – but have ya broken the pony?"

I tilted my head a little. "I don't catch your meaning."

"Ya set the stage a' Court for a migh'y powerful Lady; now ye have to live up to the name!" Woden slammed his fist on the table for emphasis, and I yelped, after which he laughed at me.

And so it came to be, after a long day at court, I was across from Woden in the Palace's War Room. He hefted a heavy shield on one arm, although it didn't look like any Makai material I was familiar with – it had an odd honeycomb texture, and didn't look nearly solid enough to defend against blows. He hefted a small hand-axe in his other hand. Well – it looked small in his hands, but it was longer than my arm.

I tried blasting him with sound – an easy enough feat – and he just raised his odd little shield. Where normally I would have ripped a hapless soldier to shreds with such a barrage, the sound seemed to have no effect on the honeycomb shield. Instead, the metal edging grew white-hot, but Woden stood his ground.

I blinked, unsure of what had just happened.

"You son of a _whore_!" I yelled. "You're _cheating_!" Realization dawned on me in a rough shake. Woden was well aware of my Sound powers, had found a sound-absorbing material, and forged it into a shield. Sound-absorbing materials put off heat as a byproduct, hence the glowing metal edges. He was well-prepared for my distance attacks.

"Oh it ain't cheating – it's called 'research'!" He chuckled from behind his shield. "If'n you'd done the same we might be havin' a different kind o' chat!"

"Oh, so we're playing like that, then?" I yelled. I darted forward, and then just as swiftly to the side, ducking under Woden's axe as he swung high.

I rushed up, ready to strike – alarm bells went off at my senses, and I darted back without meaning to. My blood pressure shot through the roof and I broke out in a cold sweat. I had plastered my body against the wall, trying to get half an inch further away. _If I had attacked him just now_ , my mind screamed, _he would have killed me._

The awful aura faded, and Woden's face relaxed into a sympathetic expression. "Oh, Lady…" he said soothingly. "I didn'a mean to frighten ye so badly."

I was breathing heavily, and only just managed to peel myself off the wall. "I thought you were going to kill me, Woden. My body moved away without asking my brain first."

"That," he said, "is why you're no' dead," he affirmed.

"What _was_ that?" I choked on the words, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"An old trick I learned from some War Gods," Woden remarked casually, tossing the information away. "Called it 'battle aura'. Aye they _loved_ their figh'in, tha' feelin' rolled off'n them in waves a'fore they fough'." Woden shuddered a little in excitement at the memory alone. "T'was a terrible feelin' to be surrounded by 'em when they go' like tha'."

"How do I do that?" The question as almost reverent. I _needed_ to know how to do that – to keep people away from me without raising a finger.

Woden's face drooped a little, and some of the light went out of his eyes. "You become a livin' weapon, m'Lady. You give up lit'le pieces of yerself and the things tha' make ye smile."

" _Teach me_ ," I demanded, although it sounded more like begging. I didn't want to be afraid anymore.

Woden made a strangled sort of sound. "I didn'a mean for ye to _wan_ t this, m'Lady; I jus' wan'ed ye ta see wha' ye was up agains'.

" _Please!_ " I was actually begging. "I can't live like this anymore!"

Woden set his large hands on my shoulders, and my stomach churned at the physical contact. Woden could read my discomfort on my face, and his accent grew thicker with the intense emotion in his voice. "This wouldn' stop the nigh'mares, m'Lady," he said softly. "If'n I taugh' ye how ta be like tha', there wouldn' be anythin' happy lef' of ye."

Tears were pushing at the backs of my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall – not there, not where it wasn't safe. "There's nothing happy left in me now, so what difference would it make?"

Some of that light returned to Woden's eyes, and his moustache twitched upwards again. "I beg tah differ, m'Lady."

He released my shoulders, and gave me my space once more. He walked over to the other side of the room, retrieving his shield and battle axe. Woden waved me over. "Come. I'll show you how ta throw some _real_ power around!"

* * *

I was exhausted, and my energy reserves nearly depleted. I was still pressing the cool towel against the back of my neck and hoping it would cool me down as I walked back to my room, intent on taking the coldest bath of my life. Woden had been true to his word – showing me how to throw around precise attacks in ways that had never even occurred to me. We had shared a celebratory cheer when two more warding tattoos faded in the late evening.

I was catching a drip of sweat on the side of my face when something flickered in the corner of my eye, and I turned my head briefly on reflex. I stopped dead in the hall, neck straining with the speed at which I turned it. It was a mirror that had caught my eye, and the movement was my own passing.

It took me until that moment to realize that there weren't any Mirrors in the mobile fortress in Alaric. As such, I hadn't seen my reflection in… in a while.

I hardly recognized myself.

I was a frightening stranger – curling black hair reaching my shoulders, subtly muscular arms bared daringly with open sleeves and adorned with a scattered mass of tattoos, and blue eyes misty with nostalgia.

I looked a little thinner than before – I had gained some muscle, and lost some fat, from whatever combination of stress and training.

I looked so completely unlike that mild-mannered librarian named Maggie. _I doubt anyone I used to know would even recognize me now_ , I thought to myself.

My thoughts drifted, and a hard lump formed in my throat. It was entirely my fault really; I couldn't blame anyone else for me standing in that exact spot, being who I was. I had chosen to go to the Dove Center, and that choice is what led directly to that moment.

It had been my choice, in a sick kind of way. I had made that choice with such hope in my heart. I had felt… such hope.

A memory of green drifted at the edges of my memory.

How long had it been? Weeks? Months? I hadn't thought of Shuichi in quite a while. It could only serve to make me sad at that point. After all, he was a wonderful _human_ boy that I would never see again. I would outlive him a hundred times over, and at some point in his short life he would stop thinking of me. Maybe he already had. That was another depressing thought.

There was an audible gasp. I turned to see a man standing in the hall, hand comically grasped over his chest, and his face jokingly surprised. He seemed familiar, with long, rich golden hair, and honey-toned amber eyes. Even his skin seemed to have a glimmering luster. "Such a beauty!" he proclaimed, hand still grasped tight over his chest.

"Oh, stop," I scoffed, pulling the towel down on either side of my neck. "I'm a sweaty mess."

"Nay, gentle lady – I speak the truth." I remembered his face then – he had been at Court the day I almost blew up the building with rage.

I frowned, and put my hands on my hips, letting my expression dip into a snarl. "I know you know who I am, so you can stop."

He smiled, letting my anger slip past him without disturbing him in the slightest.. "I am Yasuo, advisor to the Court in matters of Trade – at your service." He bowed, his hair slipping smoothly over his shoulders.

I gave the shallowest curtsy of my life, not concerned that I was being rude. "Lady Hana; advisor to Lord Mukuro."

Yasuo didn't seem to mind my poor manners and just continued to smile. "A pleasure, my Lady."

* * *

A/N: My dear readers thank you for your patience. This story is extremely difficult to write as I try to strike a balance between getting to the good stuff and not skipping over exposition that really does matter. There are certain people that she _needs_ to meet properly for the story to advance how I intend, although the next chapter or two will skip over large sections of time. This may come out a little clumsily, but bear with me. Maggie's time at Court – and absolutely her strength with the Song – will be crucial to the rest of the story

Many thanks to my reviewers: TiaKay, Devious Neko Boi, SilverDragonsTail, Counting Sinful Stars, tyedyeoreo1015, Melissa Fairy, Leahcar-Soutaichou, pourquoibella, Taylor, TooLazyToLogin, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, Mother Ammy, Toreh, BarbyChan4ever, Uqor45, PrinceMaoyan, and LateNightOwl.

I haven't heard from some of my regulars in a while – am I losing you guys because of the long intervals between updates?

PLEASE REVIEW!


	25. Making a Name

If I hadn't made a name for myself by threatening most of the Court on the first day, I most certainly did a few weeks later.

Woden and I were headed to Court, and I had dressed fairly casually that day; I decided to forgo the elaborate gown and cover my scars for my own comfort. Almost everyone in attendance was familiar with my appearance at that point, so I didn't think it would matter.

We approached the large wood doors, and when Woden approached to open them, a guard blocked his path.

My large companion's brow furrowed, and a predatory snarl slipped out. "I'd move before you lose a hand, ya ken?" he threatened.

The guard seemed undisturbed, but when I went to brush past, he grabbed me around the wrist with a harsh "Your kind doesn't belong here!"

I looked down slowly at the hand wrapped around my wrist. Woden did as well. "I'd let go o' the Lady, mate," Woden warned lowly.

The demon sneered. "You wouldn't dare attack when I'm holding your _gentle_ _Lady_ , would you?"

Woden shrugged. "I wouldn't, aye," His moustache twitched with a grin and he took several steps backwards, "but the Lady sure will."

I clamped my free hand over the appendage grasping mine, trapping it against me. The guard looked confused, and tried to release me but I held him fast. "We clearly haven't met before," I snarled. "I am Lady Hana, advisor to Lord Mukuro, Master of Sound." It sounded a little pretentious, but terribly appropriate for the threat. "Do you know what I can do with sound?" I asked.

I rattled his bones a little with a strong vibration, and he let out a strangled gurgle as he tried to suppress his own pained cries. "With my powers I can rip the flesh from your bones, I can turn your brain into a little puddle of goo, I can blind you and deafen you, and I can warp your very perception of reality. So tell me," I leaned close and whispered right in his face, " _how would you like to die?"_

* * *

Woden walked a few strides behind me after I opened the doors. My blood-soaked hands left long, bloody streaks on the rich wood, and left a dripping, sick trail along the polished stone floors. I curtsied at the base of King Enki's riser, ignoring the blood splatter that nearly covered every inch of exposed flesh and soaked my clothes. "I beg your pardon for my tardiness, your Highness," I apologized, "there was some trouble with the door."

The room was deathly silent as I ascended the little step to the Seat of Alaric. With no regard for the blood trail behind me I sat, placing my hands on the sunset-yellow armrests and instantly staining them a violent red.

It took several minutes for anyone to speak. I don't believe that it was from fear – not for the other Stewards, and certainly not for King Enki – but more from surprise. For several weeks I had been a fairly light presence in Court, if you ignored my initial outburst when discussing the demonic converts. I was a one-trick pony, more concerned about how humans and my unique converted species were treated.

But this openly violent display, where no one in the room got to see the actual violence, was so contradictory to their understanding of my behavior that they were legitimately stunned. The room sat in silence as everyone collected their thoughts, and we were finally able to proceed a few minutes later.

Yasuo was actually the first one to speak.

"Lords, Highness, might I bring your attention to the current trade agreement between Gandara and the Selvig provinces?" His voice was as soothing and golden as his appearance, and seemed to help the room relax back into its typical atmosphere. He remained standing, hands open and palms up, displaying his absence of weapons and hostility.

"The Selvig provinces have requested a decrease in tariffs when exporting to Gandara, as it has become a deterrent in its own right. They are only able to mine for ore, and are unable to grow substantial crops or forage effectively given the high toxicity of the soil there. Plant life is hostile and proteins scarce. Trade with Gandara is their main source of survival, and the tariffs are endangering that survival.

The representative from Gandara shifted in his chair, grumbling. "Gandara is under no obligation to trade with the Selvig provinces, given we are more than capable of mining our own ore for a much cheaper price. Tariffs discourage the provinces from relying on only Gandara for all of their needs."

Yasuo gave a pleasant smile, clasping his hands in front of him. "Having just agreed that the provinces need to supply their needs from outside their borders, wouldn't you agree that it is in the best interest of the surrounding lands and stewarded lands if they are well-supplied? If not, the provinces may feel they have no choice but to invade their surrounding territories just to survive."

Gandara's speaker sputtered a bit. "Are you suggesting that the _Selvig provinces_ might _dare_ to attempt to invade Gandara?! They are welcome to _try_. We will wipe them off the map and take their barren soil and meager mines happily under our care!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Alaric would certainly hope that Gandara is not assuming that available lands could simply be folded under its stewardship, as that would place it at a significant geographic advantage over the other two, _equal_ , stewardships of Alaric and Tourin." I tapped bloody fingers against my armrests.

The little demon blinked in surprise, and then frowned. "Of course not; Gandara would of course divide the lands equally, as required."

My gaze flickered to Yasuo briefly. "If the lands would need to be divided equally, the peoples who live there would be split as well, breaking internal trade routes that have yet to be discussed. Further trade agreements would need to be created, further complicating the issue at hand. Isn't that correct, Yasuo?" I turned to the golden-toned advisor, who nodded. I glanced back at Gandara's representative, who was positively steaming with rage. I smiled languidly, knowing I was about to win the argument. "If that's the case, might it not be far simpler to relax the tariffs on trade from the Selvig provinces, and save us all several days' worth of further trade negotiations when Gandara gives us all a few more square kilometers of land?"

With some heated grumbling, Gandara conceded the point. Yasuo gave me a deferential nod, and went on to negotiate the new tariff rate.

* * *

It was Woden who eventually reminded me that I couldn't stay at Court forever. For one, I barely slept, and my exhausted irritation was starting to show. More importantly, I needed to report back to Mukuro what had been discussed at Court. Personally, I wanted to get the archived plants back to Alaric, and get them sorted properly.

I was both relieved and a little hesitant to return – had my outbursts embarrassed Mukuro in any way? What might happen at Court if I wasn't there to intervene? I had plenty of travel time to obsess over my anxieties, but much of it washed away when the moving fortress finally came into view through the thick forest branches.

We were greeted with little ceremony – a few demons collected the samples and journals, quick scurrying away down the long hallways. I wondered if word had traveled to Alaric about my quick and lethal temper.

"Nyema!" I called, spotting the little Mouse demoness down the hall. She stopped, waving back.

She scurried across the hall quickly to greet me. "Hello again!" she greeted, and squeaked in surprise as I swept her up for a hug.

"I missed you, my friend!" I gave her a final squeeze before setting her back on her feet. It _was_ good to see friendly faces again. Having been surrounded by demons with questionable strength and motives for what seemed like _months_ , I was almost _relaxing_.

"I missed you too!" She sized me up, and gave a tiny smile. "What has Woden done to the little slip of a woman who left here trembling in her boots?"

I put my hands on my hips, and jutted me chin out proudly. "He turned her inside out, that's what!"

"Aye, an' nearly put my back out doin' it!" The large man boomed from behind me, putting a hand on his back and groaning loudly for emphasis.

"Big baby," I mocked, punching his shoulder. He mock-whimpered, clutching his shoulder.

Nyema chuckled, and sighed a little. "I hate to spring this on you the moment you return, but Mukuro did want to see you as soon as you arrived."

I scrunched my face with displeasure, and sighed deeply. "I guess I should have expected it." I turned, walking backwards towards Mukuro's throne room. "Send word to my beloved after they find my body!" I yelled, clasping my hands dramatically over my chest.

Woden pulled out a white cloth from his pocket, and waved it at me daintily. "Aye, you'll be greatly missed!"

My laughter warmed me as I vanished into the darkness of the fortress's deep halls.

* * *

Some part of me thinks that Mukuro never really leaves her great hall/throne room. She's almost always in there in the exact position I found her – feet either propped up on the table, or staring off into nothingness. I wondered often if she was wishing for a different world – one where the Makai was still a place of great violence, where excitement in the form of fantastic battles lingered around every dark corner.

But anyway, she was waiting for me, feet propped up on the table, slouched slightly backwards in her large chair.

"You survived Court, it seems. How was it?" Mukuro asked, head tilted slightly to one side to see me properly as I approached..

"A clusterfuck; but you already knew that, I'm sure." I plopped into one of the chairs beside her without any ceremony, and heaved a giant sigh as I let out the last of the tension that had been winding up in my muscles.

"I've heard a few stories, yes," she chuckled darkly. "You've done quite well for yourself, and Alaric as well." She stretched languidly. "Woden would send me reports on your status every now and again. He tells me you have made great strides in controlling your powers as well."

"Oh?" I asked, "What exactly did he say?"

"I believe his words were 'Woe be unto any man who dares lay a hand on the Master of Sound'." I couldn't tell if she was making fun of me or not.

"I'm not a murderer; I just defended myself," I explained defensively.

She tilted her head to the side, resting it on an open palm. "I'm sure the guard who stood in your path at Court might beg to differ." She waved me away, dismissing me. "Just try to keep the body count low when you return to Court."

I had stood to leave, already halfway to the door when her words processed properly.

"I have to go _back!?"_

* * *

It wasn't too long before Mukuro sent me back to Court - a few weeks at most. I had _just_ finished adding the Palace's plants to my catalogue – almost to the _minute_ , which was spooky – Nyema arrived with the news.

To make it worse, Woden did not return to the Palace with me. Mukuro reasoned that, given the bloodbath with the guard, I was more than capable of defending myself. Instead she sent a small lizard demon that was only responsible for opening doors and the like.

But as I lost one companion, I gained another - in that strangely calm golden-haired Trade advisor named Yasuo.

Yasuo and I made a decent team at Court, although we never formally agreed to work together. Being of a lower status, Yasuo was not in a position to make enemies and still survive. As such, he could bring up an issue that would assuredly help the world around us to be a little more peaceful, and I could argue the point until the opposing party finally conceded.

Tourin, however, almost never backed down. I got into a literal shouting match with one of their bald monks one day. It had something to do with nomadic grazing rights, if I recall properly, and Tourin had no interest in letting nomads use what little grasslands they had available. I argued that there was little harm in permitting it one month out of the year, as grasses are incredibly resilient, but they would not back down, claiming it was a threat to their security.

No matter how much Yasuo and I pushed and argued, Tourin would not give in – the nomads Yasuo represented would have to graze elsewhere.

Tourin was an odd duck, I was learning. They were fairly secretive – more so than the technological pinnacle of Gandara – and restricted casual immigration. There were rumors that a _human_ had been seen there, which seemed like utter nonsense. I was more aware than most of exactly how ridiculous that statement was.

I wondered often, however, if Tourin might not be concealing more Factories for converting humans into demons. Without evidence, I didn't dare confront the bald monk; it would certainly lead to violence.

Outside of the Hall, Yasuo was basically my only friend. We often ate meals together – with my little lizard chaperone observing from afar – and he did make me laugh. His humor was a little delicate for my tastes, but it was better than eating in silence. He also respected my desire to completely avoid physical contact – probably due to the rumor mill producing tales that I would _literally_ _rip apart_ people that touched me. I didn't really care.

Yasuo had little to no aspiration in climbing the political ladder, it seemed, but was genuinely interested in doing the best he could from his current position as Trade advisor. "You would be amazed what doors trade can open," he would often remark, followed by a knowing wink. I would roll my eyes, and the conversation would continue along.

He didn't pry too much into my history as a slave, or question too much about my conversion, which I appreciated. Sure, I probably should have talked about it with _someone_ , but I didn't have any sympathetic ears to bend.

I let him talk as much as he wanted, occasionally interjecting with jokes or comments of my own, partly because my human experience didn't translate well into the Makai, but mostly because I was often too tired to hold real conversation. I didn't sleep much at the Palace, if at all. I stayed twice as long, given that I finally understood enough of how politics worked to actually make a difference, but the lack of sleep was starting to take its toll on me.

I actually nodded off in my chair once when sleep finally got the better of me. The lizard demon – whose name I could never remember – had to kick the base of the chair to jolt me awake. He knew better than to touch me directly, so it was a fairly decent option.

I shook my head a little to clear my sleepiness, and tried to focus on what was being said around me.

"Lord Yusuke of Tourin travels back and forth as he pleases! Such permission should be granted to whatever demon requests it!" _Ah, someone must be butthurt over border control around Tourin,_ I thought to myself, and let my eyes drift closed for another minute. What else was new? I was jolted awake when my chaperone kicked my seat again.

" _What?"_ I hissed at him, and he jerked his head towards the speaker, urging me to pay attention. I grumbled a little under my breath, but resolved to stay awake.

Yasuo caught my eye in the middle of the day, and shot me a curious look. I shook my head, dismissing his obvious concern. Not to be dissuaded, he followed me out of the hall in the evening to question me.

"Hana, are you well?" Yasuo asked, his face the perfect picture of concern.

I nodded. "Yes, thank you for your concern." It was extremely unwise to be showing my level of exhaustion, especially in a room with some of the strongest demons in the Makai. What I really needed was a couple shots of espresso every morning, and then I would be just peachy.

It didn't appease Yasuo's concern, though. "You would tell me if someone was bothering you? I can protect you – I want you to be safe." I recoiled at the thought, and the strong relationship it might suggest.

"I assure you I don't need your protection." I gave him an irritated look, letting my lip curl over my teeth in a snarl. "Nor do I want it. I am not a prize for you to win, and I have no intention of seeking anything other than friendship – so don't _ruin_ it like this!"

Don't get me wrong – he was a handsome man. He seemed kind, and given his position in Enki's court, was definitely a strong demon. His rich golden hair and warm amber eyes gave him this aura of warmth. I _definitely_ could have done worse in choosing a partner.

But I didn't want to be some demon's political tool. He was well aware of my history – by that point, news of the Factories had spread quite far in Court. Enki was furious, and had made several very public decrees. In most circles I was a pariah – not quite human, not quite demon. Not quite _anything_. Even though I held a great deal of political clout, that was limited to the grand hall. After sessions were over I was pretty much alone at all times, except for when Yasuo would drop in to chat.

But I just didn't want _that kind_ of relationship with Yasuo, no matter how lonely I was. I couldn't imagine trying to develop a romance with anyone again, not since… I willed myself to stop thinking about it. Not everything had to end in heartache, but there was no reason to chance it.

I envied the other converts' abilities to blend in – I was the idiot who had outed myself, and that was completely my fault, but I felt like I had stuck some kind of huge target on my back. I just wanted to go back to Alaric and hide forever. Maybe I could change my name again, and change my hair color.

"Hana, I just want the best for you," he tried to convince me. He took a step too close, so I took one backwards.

"Remember what I can do, Yasuo." It wasn't so much a threat as a general warning. Being that he was pretty much the only person I had to talk to outside of Court discussion, I didn't want to accidentally turn him into Jell-o just because he invaded my personal space bubble.

Yasuo seemed to have no sense of self-preservation, as he took another step towards me, hands held out, open, palm-up. "Always, koishii," he said tenderly.

The name made my skin crawl. " _Don't call me that!"_ I yelled. "Do _not_ claim me as yours! I belong to _me!_ " Any term of endearment shouldn't have bothered me so much, but the thought of _belonging_ had been so tainted for me. What should have been a sweet moment – a handsome man calling me a sweet name – felt suffocating and binding.

Yasuo dropped his hands, frowning. "I don't understand," he replied, "I thought-" I shook my head fiercely. "I'm going back to Alaric tonight." I wasn't due back for more than a week, but I needed to leave; this was just too much for me at that moment. I tried to just brush past him, but Yasuo had other plans.

"Hana, wait," he asked, and gently grasped my arm as I passed. I'm sure it was meant to be kind. I'm sure he planned to kiss me, or sweep me off my feet, or any number of other romantic things. But all I could see was blood.

An arm detached.

Screaming.

Agony.

I reacted.

Furious waves of sound blasted the hall apart on either side, punching holes clean through the wall. The edges of these waves caught Yasuo on one side and threw him far down the hall. He slid along the floor, but quickly staggered to his feet again once he slid to a stop.

His gold hair concealed half of his face as he remained a little hunched, clutching the shoulder that had caught the sound pulse.

" _ **NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN**_ _!_ " I roared; my voice amplified with power. My hair flew in all directions, waves of raw sound pulsating from my body. I pointed with one finger to a point in space just over the shoulder I had just injured, and shot a precise burst of sound. It threw back the hair from his face, revealing the bright red welt my pulse had left on his skin.

" _Hear me_ ," I demanded, eyes narrowing, "I have great respect for you, and I value your companionship, but this is where its limit stands."

Yasuo hunched a little lower in his best attempt at a bow. I can only imagine how much pain that action caused him. "I hear you, my Lady. I shall respect your wishes," he murmured quietly, although the sound carried far enough for my senses to gather.

Without bothering to reply I turned swiftly on my heel and marched down the hall, not bothering to glance at the huge holes I had left on either side of the hall. They would be repaired by morning, I was certain.

I strode through the halls with head held high, quickly collected my belongings into my little bag, and threw it over my shoulder. I had declared already that I was departing, and had no intent to stick around – certainly not now.

My little lizard demon companion, assigned by Mukuro, walked into my suite without bothering to knock – he never did. Even though I didn't need him beside me anymore – which was why he was absent – I missed Woden. His large presence was an odd comfort that I could have used in that moment. This smaller demon was simply no substitute.

"Are we departing for Alaric, my Lady?" he asked, his raspy voice grating at my senses.

No, I didn't want to go back to Alaric quite yet. Mukuro had warned me not to lose my temper at Court, and I wanted to give the news a little time to age before I appeared, otherwise she might bite my head off.

No _thank_ you.

But there was another option. I turned with a cold expression and barely restrained fury to the small demon; he was not to blame for my anger, only the unfortunate recipient of the residual aftermath. "Send word to Lord Mukuro that I'm taking a detour on the way back," I stated, hoisting my bag a little higher on my shoulder. "I shall go _alone_ ," I stated firmly.

"Lord Mukuro instructed you to-" the little demon started to object, wringing nervous grey-scaled hands, but I interrupted.

"Are you _questioning_ me?" My eyes flashed, hinting at the dangerous waters the demon was treading.

"O-oh of course not, my Lady." He bowed a few times in quick succession, and quickly changed his tone. "Where shall I tell Lord Mukuro you are going?" the demon asked hesitantly.

"Tourin," I replied curtly. "There are samples and journals there that need to be added to the archive, and have gone uncollected for too long."

* * *

A/N: Hey readers! We're getting to the first domino that sets off Maggie being "found"! Remember, nothing is really 'easy' with this story, so it's not like she's going to just stumble upon Yusuke in Tourin.

By the way – how about a round of applause for getting this out so quickly? Strangely, I can't write like AT ALL when I'm on work trips, even though I have plenty of time to do so. Well… I'm home for about two months, so I should be able to churn out a few chapters at a decent pace.

Many thanks to my reviewers: Devious Neko Boi, TiaKay, SilverDragonsTail, Counting Sinful Stars, Chibisensei110787, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, Sweet Sprinks, darkknightwriter, Melissa Fairy, OfficerShadowCat, akagami hime chan, Sanguinary Tide, Ground-Connamon, Leahcar-Soutaichou, and Uqor45!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	26. Dominoes

_A/N: Alright, kids. I was going to torture you by splitting this into two chapters, but it just seems to flow a lot better as one big one. Buckle up – it's about to get crazy._

* * *

There was a certain disadvantage to traveling through the Makai alone. For one, it meant that I couldn't even close my eyes and _pretend_ to sleep – not if I wanted to make it to Tourin alive. I was bothered fairly routinely by lower-class demons who thought I would make easy prey – to kill, eat, rob, whatever – but they were all easily dispatched. Killing other demons became a matter of little consequence.

For all of Tourin's conniptions at Court about keeping wandering demons out of their territory, I encountered no guard, no border control, nothing. I just happened to realize one morning that I had crossed into Tourin when I came across my first canyon.

Tourin had a spectacular, fierce beauty. It reminded me strongly of the American Southwest. I stopped for as long as I was able to appreciate that vista before continuing deeper into Tourin's territory.

The fortress came into view as the earth dropped away in a steep cliff – it reminded me strongly of a termite mound – high spires of what looked like packed clay with very few windows, and one peculiar little offshoot at the very top of the highest tower. It wasn't exactly what I imagined one of the three great fortresses to look like – it more closely resembled a child's abandoned art project than a seat of power.

Moving through Tourin I was aware of a few figures following me – they weren't trying to hide, but they weren't approaching further; just making their presences known. I flared my energy in a _back off_ gesture, which they ignored.

 _Must be the guard_ , I reasoned. Strange that they weren't present at the border, but had a heavy presence around the fortress. _You have priority problems, Lord Yusuke._

The only opening at ground level was a set of double doors that only stood a few feet taller than me. I was used to doors large enough for a few elephants to pass through, but this was practically 'normal'. They opened as I approached, and one of Tourin's many bald monks appeared from the unlit depths of the fortress.

He looked quite tense; brow lowered over glaring eyes; hands forcibly relaxed at his sides even though his energy was flaring high and bright. "State your business in Tourin."

"Good afternoon." I bowed respectfully. "I was told to ask for Hokushin upon my arrival."

The monk turned his head slightly. "I am he."

I clasped my hands in front of me, attempting to look both non-threatening and avoid looking submissive all at once. "I've come to collect the samples left by Lady Aria?" I had meant for it to be a statement, but it came out more like a question.

I seemed to do something right, though, because Hokushin smiled, and the tension bled out of the air. "Ah, welcome. I will be happy to assist you, Lady…?" He stepped aside to allow me entrance to the dark, cavernous space.

I entered, hiding my trepidation at just sauntering into a completely unlit space. "Hana, and thank you. I believe we may have crossed paths once or twice in the palace, Hokushin."

He nodded sagely. "I believe you are correct. You are well-known for your… passion, at Court."

The doors closed heavily behind us, and for only a moment we were bathed in darkness. "I believe that's a particularly diplomatic way of saying 'foul-tempered'," I murmured in the darkness.

My eyes adjusted quickly, aided by a bioluminescent light that grew brighter as the natural light from outside was blocked by the heavy doors. It was a clever way to produce light in the expansive clay and rock structure.

My gaze caught Hokushin as he quirked a smile at my quiet mutterings, but he did not reply.

We moved through the fortress and I noticed there was a peculiar amount of activity; bald monks moving swiftly at the periphery, cleaning surfaces that already appeared spotless.

Hokushin sensed my question, although I was too polite to ask. "Our Lord returns soon, so please excuse the activity," he explained.

I nodded. "Lord Yusuke, is it?" _He must be quite the tyrannical leader for them to work so vigorously just to keep the place spotless._

"Indeed," Hokushin didn't appear to fear his Lord, or else I was terrible at reading people. _This place just gets more and more confusing,_ I thought.

I shrugged it off. "Well don't mind me; I'll try to keep out of your hair…" I trailed off, staring at his perfect chrome-dome shaved head. I burst into laughter. He did not look amused.

It felt so _good_ to laugh again; the full-chested, belly-shaking laugh that makes you bend over for the aching muscles and tears roll down your face and you feel the joy strike you most utterly and say _you are alive._

Hokushin tilted his head, looking like a confused puppy. "My Lord enjoys the same joke, though I do not understand it myself."

I should have realized that Hokushin's familiarity with the utterly human colloquialism meant something very important.

My laughter subsided quickly, I apologized for my outburst, and Hokushin led me around the fortress and into a small storage room with one piece of furniture inside. Aria's journals and jars were shoved into what was essentially a cupboard, but it appeared to have been for the better. The inside of the cabinet was cool and dry, while the rest of the fortress was quite warm – not the best condition for storing samples.

They nearly overloaded what my poor tiny frame was able to bear, completely emptying the cabinet into a comically large rucksack and sending me off into the wilds loaded down like a pack horse. I covered my head against the assault of the late afternoon heat – while the climate around the palace and in Alaric never really seemed to change, it seemed Spring was transitioning to Summer a little early in Tourin.

 _I can't believe how time flies._

* * *

Kurama sat at his desk, fiddling with a pen. He was given a fair amount of freedom with his Stepfather's Company, and it allowed him to dash away at a moment's notice, as had been often necessary in the recent past. But now with the complete lack of action he was fairly bored – no, bored was the wrong word. He was distracted. The work wasn't nearly challenging enough to capture all of his attention, and his mind drifted to the memory of a face that was starting to grow indistinct at the edges. Kurama needed the distraction of difficult work, or a good battle, to keep his mind off of his strange obsession.

He nearly jumped out of his chair when the phone on his desk rang. "Moshi moshi," he answered politely.

" _Fox,"_ a gravelly voice responded.

"Master Genkai, what can I do for you? Is something wrong?" It was rare that he received a call from the wizened old psychic – generally it meant that the world was ended. Stranger still was the fact that she was calling at his office. He checked his cell phone and realized he had accidentally turned off the sound, and had missed _eight calls_ from the psychic.

" _I got a strange message for you, from the Makai of all places, routed through Spirit World. Apparently the demon sending the message stressed the importance that you receive it immediately."_ She sounded more irritated than concerned – although it was sometimes difficult to distinguish between the two.

Kurama leaned forward in his chair. "Oh? What was the message?"

There was a brief pause, and a crinkling of paper. _"It was 'the pass at Rhyion is clear,' whatever that means."_

* * *

Mukuro left me alone when I returned to Alaric – no fierce punishment for blasting holes in walls, or throwing men around. I think her ignoring me completely might have been worse – either she didn't care, or she didn't see senseless violence as a real problem.

Despite that, I disappeared into my work. Cataloguing was soothing, and I could still the vibrations in the room, keeping it quiet and peaceful. But I lost something, too. I didn't see much of anyone at the fortress, and avoided any and all contact. Nyema and Woden were both out on other assignments – rounding up stray humans who wandered through a breach in the barrier, probably – so there wasn't any real reason to leave my Archives.

But all good things must come to the end, and this end came in the form of a disgruntled Mukuro shoving open the Archive door, knocking a few books from their shelves. "There is a man here for you," she announced.

There were phrases that used to terrify me – or rather, the idea of them gave me nightmares: someone coming in the middle of the night to exact revenge or retrieve their property. Now I was just confused.

"What? _Who?_ " I asked incredulously. If it had been Woden, he would have just come himself. Who warranted a special announcement from Mukuro herself?

"Some idiot named Yasuo, who refuses to leave until he speaks with you." Hence the reason for her angry expression. _Hoooooo boy._ Mukuro was not partial to demands, and this sounded like he had been less than polite. Unfortunately because he was fairly well-known at Court she couldn't just cut off his head and toss his body in a ravine.

I turned away from the door, picking up the books that had fallen onto the floor. "I don't want to see him."

She reached over my shoulder and yanked the journals out of my arms. "Too bad – he is an _annoyance_ and you will deal with it. If you want him gone, get rid of him."

And with that she kicked me out of my own Archive.

Rude.

I grumbled and kicked the floor as I stalked down the hall feeling a little like a five year old being sent for time-out. It would be most unwise to avoid her direct orders, but I really, _really_ didn't want to see Yasuo.

Guards were waiting outside of the Hall – partly because Yasuo was there, and partly to make sure I showed up, I was sure – and opened the large doors for me. The Hall was completely empty, save for my golden-haired friend standing awkwardly at the head of the table. I wondered absently how long he had been waiting, and why he hadn't taken a seat.

He looked better – the red marks had faded, and I could see no lingering evidence that he had been injured. As soon as I entered the room he flopped over into a deep bow, even going so far as to expose the back of his neck – a very submissive move. "Please accept my most sincere apology for upsetting you," he said, voice partially muffled in his bow.

I refused to acknowledge the gesture, and didn't bother moving further into the room as the doors closed behind me. "What do you want, Yasuo?"

He straightened, and offered a wan smile. "How have you been?"

I sighed, rubbing at my eyes with one hand "I don't have time for small talk, I-"

Yasuo interrupted me, taking a few quick strides forward. "I want you to come back to Court, and be with me."

"Excuse me?" I asked, flabbergasted. I had expected something more related to the fact that I had attacked him openly, and not something that sounded like a marriage proposal.

He moved further forward until I took a half-step back, then he stopped. His expression was pleading. "You need to accept what you are, and the possibility for power that it entails. Think of all you could do for the rights of humans, and creating a lasting peace in the Makai! All you need is the right partner." He held out his hand. "Just choose me."

 _Oh god, it_ _ **is**_ _a marriage proposal._

"Do you honestly think I'll marry you just for an advantage in Court?" I recoiled at the thought – what kind of horrible relationship would that be? _And_ , I thought, _why isn't he more concerned that I attacked him?_

He shook his head, and his gold hair drifted in the air. "No – I think you would marry me to save any more humans from ever being tortured at the hands of one of us. No one will ever speak for them as you do." That much was true. None of the other demons at Court had any _reason_ to speak for the benefit of humans. It was strange enough that Enki had commanded demons leave the human world, which was intended to protect them. There were a lot of loopholes to be closed, still.

But there was one pressing issue. "I don't love you," I stated coldly. I didn't care how it sounded.

He let out a bark of laughter. "I don't need you to love me. Besides – do you think you'll ever feel safe enough to love anyone?" That question stabbed me deeper than a knife. He softened his face quickly. "I didn't mean it to sound unkind. I can be your partner at Court, and love you, without ever expecting you to return my affections. Together we can prevent your worst nightmare from happening to anyone ever again."

He reached out slowly to take my hand, hesitating for just a second before wrapping his fingers around mine. "So – marry me, and protect them all."

I froze, not liking the alien feeling of his hand around mine. I didn't want it. I didn't want him touching me. What had happened to my friend? Had I broken some part of his logical brain when I attacked him?

I didn't want this – but I didn't want anyone else to ever suffer as I had. Never again. Was it worth my happiness? Would I ever actually _have_ a chance at the fictitious happiness that all humans strive for? Was it ever attainable in the firstplace?

My mind was reeling, and I was still frozen in place, Yasuo's hand around mine.

"Hana?" he asked, giving my hand a little squeeze.

I blinked, coming back to reality.

I choked out words. "I…"

* * *

"Honey; I'm hooOOOoooome!" Yusuke yelled, kicking in the door to his own fortress. Hokushin cringed a little at the substantial dent left in the massive doors.

"My Lord, is it really necessary to announce it in that manner _every time_ you return?" Formal greetings were lost on the younger demon, so Hokushin didn't bother. Yusuke would ignore the entire greeting if he felt it was too formal.

Yusuke slung an arm around the Monk's neck, greeting him like an old friend. "Aw, come on; you know you love it!"

Hokushin adjusted his collar as Yusuke released him. "As you say, My Lord. On other matters; there are several reports waiting for-"

Yusuke sighed loudly, his upper body hunching over. "Bug me in the morning, okay? I still have a stack bigger than Bui's armor waiting for me." He sighed even louder and began his best impression of a dead man walking.

Hokushin inclined his head in a little bow. "Of course, My Lord – I shall do my best to stay out of your hair."

Yusuke laughed for only a second before stopping abruptly. He turned on the bald monk, eyes squinty. "What did you just say?" he asked slowly.

Hokushin paused for a moment. "Your hair, My Lord, I shall-"

Yusuke waved his hand to interrupt. "Shaddup I heard you the first time – you always get it wrong; you always say something like 'stay off your head'." Yusuke rushed back and leaned close. "Who finally set you straight? Was it Kurama?"

"No, My Lord – a young demoness from the Palace."

Gears turned slowly in Yusuke's head before finally clicking together in a moment of clarity. "What was her name?"

"Lady Hana, why-" Yusuke interrupted Hokushin with a wild, excited waving of his arms.

"You're _sure_ her name was Hana?" Yusuke pressed, and Hokushin nodded, confusion evident across his features. "Hang on a second; I know it's here somewhere…" Yusuke shoved his hands into every pocket until his search turned up his cellphone. "Her – is this her?" He shoved his cell phone in Hokushin's face.

Hokushin squinted at the tiny device. "Yes, that looks like her – My Lord you just arrived, _where are you going!?"_

Yusuke had dropped his bag in the middle of the entryway, turned on a dime, and rushed back out the door. His form was already rapidly disappearing onto the horizon, charged with the pulse of Mazoku power.

" _What about the reports?!"_ Hokushin yelled to the wind.

* * *

Kurama trudged through what was left of a wet, sticky snow in the Teeth's Pass. It was significantly easier to walk, and the horrible flesh-eating wind had been replaced with a calmer one. It was still bitingly cold, but it wasn't threatening to blow him off the face of the earth.

Kurama couldn't feel Hiei's energy – it was too-well masked for that – but he was following a feeling. The fir demon would only choose the best possible location for shelter, and that meant a combination of high ground, an advantageous line of sight, and access to good resources. He would also need something that was turned away from the wind. That narrowed down his options substantially.

Following the path of a small stream back to its source, Kurama was first aware of the increase in temperature. The wind had stopped abruptly, and it was almost a tolerable temperature. Grass was poking up underneath the heavy snowpack, and the occasional wildflower was visible as well.

Ahead at a bend in the stream, there was a shadowy cavern formed by a looming overhang of stone. Drooping from above like a waterfall, thick flower-coated vines nearly concealed the entrance, and were diffusing a heady aroma so strong it nearly made Kurama sneeze.

"Stop there, or be cut down." Commanded a familiar voice.

Kurama pulled back the hood of his coat, offering a friendly grin. "Hello, Hiei. It's good to see you again."

The fire demon stood on a little overhang high above, maintaining the high ground over his friend. He did not lower his sword. He did not descend to Kurama's level. "Hn. What are you doing here, fox?" Hiei's eyes were leveled on the fox demon, but his exposed Jagan darted all around with frenetic energy.

Kurama offered a banal smile."I've been waiting all winter to speak with you, the least you could do is welcome me into your… home?" Warm as it was, with greenery seeming to be in fair abundance, there was a tension in the air. "Is Aria here with you?"

"What do you want?" Hiei snapped, not answering the question.

Kurama's smile fell a little , wondering what had come over his friend. "I was hoping to ask you for a favor."

Hiei finally sheathed his katana, and snorted in derision. "Not interested. I have troubles enough of my own without getting involved in yours."

Interrupting the tense scene, a light feminine voice took over the conversation in an instant. "Is that Kurama?" Aria's voice drifted out of the cave, and Kurama could hear movement. A hand reached out from the vines, starting to draw them aside.

"Stay inside!" Hiei commanded sharply.

"You don't have to be so touchy about it!" she shot back, just as viciously. The hand vanished.

Silence reigned supreme in the peaceful glen, interrupted only by a faraway wind brushing up against tall mountains.

Kurama knew better than to ask the demon outright what was wrong. "No one's seen either of you in quite some time."

Hiei was uncharacteristically silent, staring at the cave concealing his wife.

He prodded a little harder.

"Is Aria well?" Kurama asked gently.

"None of your business," Hiei snapped.

In outright defiance, Aria's face peeked out of the heavy vines concealing the cavern entrance. Her face glowed with happiness as she spotted him. "Kurama!" she cried.

Hiei flitted over to the entrance, and scowled at his wife. "I told you to stay inside the cave."

She pouted. "I'm bored in there, and I haven't seen Kurama in a long time."

"It's not safe," he said so quietly Kurama almost missed it.

Aria's face was openly distressed. "Nonsense – it's Kurama!"

Red eyes flicked over to Kurama, whose confusion was mounting. "Go back inside." Hiei said gently. "Please." He lifted a hand and tugged on a stray lock of her hair in a surprisingly affectionate motion.

Aria sighed deeply, and nodded. She disappeared behind the vines again.

 _What in the Three Worlds is going on?_ They were acting like low-level demons hiding from a demon Lord, but when Kurama reached out with his energy, he brushed up against the towering bonfire that was Hiei, and just barely touched Aria's soothing river, when Hiei snarled openly, sharp teeth bared and energy crackling.

" _Mind your own business, fox_ ," he warned.

"If Aria is in distress-" Kurama began to offer, but stopped short at Hiei's change in expression

He wasn't an expressive man in the traditional sense, so one needed to watch closely. Hiei flitted between anger, frustration, and something lodged between concern and … fear?

Hiei clenched the hilt of his Katana. "You need to leave."

The order hung between them, and Kurama nodded slowly.

"I will. After you help me." Kurama stood his ground as Hiei's nastiest, hottest glare was aimed at him – he had waited too long for this to leave without answers.

It was a silent battle of the wills - but Kurama knew he wasn't leaving, and Hiei soon realized that as well.

"Fine. But be quick about it."

Kurama held back his sigh of relief. "I'm looking for someone."

Hiei's Jagan glowed instantly, and he felt the tickle at the back of his eyes that always signaled Hiei's presence in his mind. Kurama held a picture of Maggie in his mind; short, black hair – just dusting the edge of her jaw, blue eyes – tired, and a little sad, slight of frame, sharp of mind.

 _Please,_ he thought, _just tell me if she's alive._

Hiei stood stock-still, arms crossed over his chest, eyes half-lidded. The iris of the Jagan darted from side to side as if examining a map directly in front of Hiei.

While Hiei searched the Makai, Kurama got a good look at his friend. He looked exhausted; deep purple marks under his eyes, and a slightly gaunt expression. _Hiei,_ Kurama thought to himself – his thoughts were safe so long as Hiei was searching, _there are a hundred safe houses for you to rest, not to mention Genkai's Temple, or Yusuke's fortress in Tourin. Why are you hiding in the mountains?_

The search was surprisingly brief, its completion marked by a sleepy blink from the fire demon, and then he opened his eyes as if just waking from a light nap. "The woman is with Mukuro, in Alaric," he stated.

 _What?_

Kurama ran a hand through his hair, as if that would somehow help him process his confusion. "That can't be right-" He had been there – he had _talked_ to Mukuro…

Hiei growled deep in his chest. "You doubt me?"

Kurama shook his head swiftly, lowering his gaze and chuckling. "Of course not. Thank you for your help."

 _Of course._ How could he have been so blind? _Mukuro would not abide slavery near her. She's taken in slaves in the past – why would it be any different with converts? She would find the strength within them, and exploit it. She would have no interest in giving it away._

Kurama heard a rustling of leaves again as Aria pulled aside the heavy vines just enough to spot him. She lifted one hand and gave a small wave, offering a smile.

Kurama glanced at the cave. "I'll see you soon, Hiei," he declared.

Hiei's eyes burned into Kurama's; heavy unspoken words hung between them. Hiei nodded sharply, hand tightening around the hilt of his katana.

 _I hope whatever ghosts you're hiding from stay far away, my friend._

* * *

My horrible demeanor kept anyone at the fortress from asking about Yasuo for the week that followed. I stomped down the halls whenever I was forced to leave the Archive to eat or attempt sleep, and snarled openly at guards.

So I was in a great mood.

The Archive was in its state of suppressed noise – I wasn't doing that on purpose, it was just a way to release pent-up energy. It took a few days for me to stop kicking the wall under my desk – I left a dent – and just swing my foot from side to side. A little more time went by, and the nervous fidgeting subsided, and maintaining the silence was enough to keep me from twitching like an angry cat.

A nasty side effect was a complete ignorance of when people were trying to get my attention. Most demons would completely avoid disturbing me – they would have to touch me to get my attention, and that was out of the question – but Mukuro had no such qualms.

She restrained herself, surprisingly, as I was bustling around the archives packing my bag. I wanted to bring a few samples with me to examine in my spare time (ha!), and had almost forgotten their matching journals.

Mukuro leaned in the door of my little archive, arms crossed over her chest. The sight of her startled me so badly in the complete silence that I shrieked, dropped everything I was carrying, and glass shattered all over the floor.

"Making a mess again, I see," Mukuro chuckled once the silence was lifted.

"You startled me," I grumbled, tossing the samples into new jars. I scooted the broken glass off to one side with a foot, resolving to clean it up when I returned – I was running behind schedule already.

"Leaving so soon?" Mukuro asked, noting the knapsack at my desk.

I nodded, stuffing the new jars deep in the bag and padding the sides with scrap cloth. "They'll hold Court whether I'm there or not, and God only knows what they'll set in motion if I'm absent." I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to wipe away the sleepy feeling that lingered. Just the _thought_ of returning to Court had been turning my stomach for days, and robbing me of sleep.

 _Yippee._

"Don't let them toss you around this time," Mukuro called after me, chuckling as I made an obscene gesture over my shoulder.

* * *

 _Nearly there_.

Kurama moved at a pace that would have impressed even Hiei, the forest rushing past him in a green wave. The reinforced doors of the moving fortress were no match for a few well-placed vines; easily prying the thick metal open.

He had the entire trip from the Teeth's Pass at Rhyion to stew about Mukuro's treachery – it was more painful than a betrayal; bitter on the tongue. He had been foolish to present Maggie as someone he was seeking for personal reasons, but he had thought Mukuro had softened after the Tournament of Kings. Apparently not.

Kurama slipped inside, darting past guards that knew better than to confront the angry fox demon. Kurama burst through the Hall doors, encountering only a surprised Mukuro. She was relaxing at her grand table, feet propped up casually in front of her. "What a surprise," she drawled, venom dripping from her voice.

Kurama skipped over the imposition and threat of his presence, skipping over all diplomacy and sense of propriety. "You _played_ me," Kurama snarled. " _Where is she_?"

"Who?" she asked, her face an impassive mask of disinterest.

" _ **The woman you hid from me**_ _!"_ Kurama all but roared, eyes glowing white with barely-restrained power. The floor groaned, ancient wood paneling beneath the surface responding to Kurama's unspoken call.

Mukuro let the threat of his energy hang in the air and drew out the silence.

"She left for the Palace a few hours ago. West."

* * *

Alaric's forests were a little darker than I would have liked. A little sunshine here, a little birdsong there; it would have gone a long way towards brightening the atmosphere.

 _Eh – you should be used to it by now,_ I thought. My rucksack was digging into my shoudlers – I had forgotten about the additional weight, so hadn't positioned it appropriately on my shoulder.I hoisted the pack a little higher on my shoulder, but stopped walking when I heard the pounding of approaching steps.

 _Did I forget something?_ I wondered.

" _HEY!_ " I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound. I turned to see a man – no, demon – fast approaching. To put it plainly, he was sprinting towards me at top speed. He had wild black hair that waved out behind him, fierce battle tattoos, and eyes with just a hint of red that betrayed his nature.

 _Mazoku._

I'd done a fair amount of reading on the many different types of demons, and a Mazoku was one I had hoped to go my entire life without meeting. Fierce in battle and vicious beyond reason, it was certain death for weaker demons like me.

"I've been looking all over for ya!" he yelled, and the bottom fell out of my stomach.

 _Oh no._

My worst fears had been realized. I could sense the massive amount of energy flowing from his body, and knew that I had no chance. I shucked the bag I was carrying, and held out my hands in front of me. _I'm not going down without a fight._ There was a brief flash of expression of confusion on his face before I unleashed my power.

"Oi, _hey!"_ my attacker yelped, darting out of the way. Sound ripped through the foliage behind him like a cannon shot. "I'm not gonna hurt you!"

"Like I'm supposed to believe that?!" I replied, throwing cannon blasts of sound, ripping through the earth and underbrush. He darted away from my attacks with ease, but never moved far enough away to be truly out of range. He tried to yell something, but the cacophony of destruction kept drowning him out.

I twisted the air with a particularly vicious wave; bending light itself. The result was a larger, stronger version of a human flash-bang grenade. I threw ten or twenty of those before one finally caught him in the back of his calf. For something akin to a small grenade blast, he barely tripped.

But he did stumble, and that gave me an opening for a tidal wave of Song. I gathered my power into the Tsunami of Song; the massive collection of raw fear and fury ripping up the earth beneath me. It was so barely contained inside me that it pulsed at the fringes of my form, making the distinction between me and the air around me seem fuzzy and vague.

The whole process took less than a half-second – from the demon's stumble to the release of my attack.

I cursed loudly as he dodged, flipping through the air like a damn gymnast, and my attack thundered past him; atomizing the trees behind him and far into the distance.

I was completely destroying that forest.

 _Oh well._ I gathered the Song, preparing to strike as the demon stopped to catch his breath – there was my opening!

" _STOP!"_ commanded a new voice with utter authority. I turned, prepared to fire another cannon blast, and then all the feeling went out of my knees. I staggered to one side, mouth gaping, eyes bugging out of my face.

 _It can't be._

* * *

A/N: _Found._

Plot plot plot plot everywhere!

I was surprised that not a single person commented about how disturbing it was that Maggie completely mauled a soldier who put his hands on her – not to hurt her, not to kill her, but to _stop her from going through a door_. Mmmmm, PTSD. I think a really important part of Maggie's character is that she doesn't feel she was traumatized _enough_ to be as affected by it as she is. It's a pretty common PTSD response.

Also – the implication that Woden _**is**_ a 'living weapon' seemed to go unnoticed. He can make wards that restrict power, and that's basically the only thing we know about him thus far, although now we know that he fought alongside some War Gods. No biggie, ya know?

Some of you have asked who this mysterious "Aria" is – she is my OC from the Chronicles of Conversion Part one – Waking Dreams.

 _ **But most importantly – did Maggie accept Yasuo's proposal?**_

Thanks to my reviewers: TiaKay, Uqor45, Leahcar-Soutaichou, Kuesuno, ischyros, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, Tsuki Kitsune Moon Fox, Divine Demonic Assassin, otterton, Nevermorea, Elicorn, Guest, Tay, skullchildforever, and Mikila94 !

PLEASE REVIEW!


	27. A Beautiful Dream

_**Previously:**_

 _I was completely destroying that forest._

 _Oh well. I gathered the Song, preparing to strike as the demon stopped to catch his breath – there was my opening!_

" _STOP!" commanded a new voice with utter authority. I turned, prepared to fire another cannon blast, and then all the feeling went out of my knees. I staggered to one side, mouth gaping, eyes bugging out of my face._

 _It can't be._

* * *

 _I must be dead. My tumor came back, and this is a crazy hallucination. I'm dying, and some kind angel is giving me a happy death._ But as I waited, with each breath he still existed, and so did I. I didn't need to pinch myself – there was so much more I could see and feel and sense about him now. I could feel the little sounds his feet made by scraping against the ground. The Song couldn't trick me like that. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was real. There was his red hair, casually mussed from his run through the woods; there were his green eyes, as vibrant as life itself.

It was _Shuichi_.

He looked exactly as I remembered – or maybe I just didn't remember him so perfectly until he was standing in front of me.

 _This can't be real_. _I know it is, but it can't be._

He was breathing heavily as well – probably from running through the forest – one hand braced against a tree beside him. "Maggie," he breathed, and I could feel each syllable brush against my senses, stirring the Song. The Song had never heard that name. It had been a thousand years since _I_ had heard that name.

His eyes drifted from me to the demon that I had been attacking. He sighed, shaking his head. "Yusuke, you were only supposed to send word if you located her." Shuichi looked him up and down. "And looking like that, it's no wonder she attacked you."

The demon – Yusuke – put his hands on his hips. "Yeah, well if I had known she was going to try and splatter me across the dirt I would have!"

 _They know each other? They_ _ **know**_ _each other!_

I blinked, and smiled. _Oh. Of course._

 _I'm dreaming._

A banal smile spread across my face, and the tension drained from my chest. Shuichi was still speaking to the strange demon my subconscious had created – I was wary of ever meeting a Mazoku, so that made sense too – but his attention soon turned to me.

"Maggie," my dream called, and my wan smile spread a little wider.

"You're not real," I said to my beautiful dream, "but it's good to see you again."

Shuichi's face fell. He turned to the Mazoku; "Could you give us a moment?" He said quietly, and the demon shrugged, vanishing into the forest.

Shuichi looked sad as he walked across the empty space to greet me. "I assure you I am quite real."

He approached me, and I scrambled backwards. "No!" I cried, and he stopped, looking confused. "I don't want to wake up yet. I always wake up when you touch me," I explained lamely. I looked down at my shaking hands. "That's just the one part of life that dreams just can't imitate."

"Magnolia, please." His voice was brimming with tenderness. "Let me show you this is real."

I could feel water brimming at the back of my eyes. "I don't want to wake up. It's been so long since I dreamed of you. Sometimes," I choked on the words, "when I thought I might die, you would appear in the night." I pressed the heel of my palms to my eyes as if trying to push the tears back in. "It's all I have, and I haven't had it in _so long_."

He was mere inches away, and I could feel the heat of his skin close to mine. "I couldn't help you with your illness when I knew you before, and I couldn't save you from the Factory. All I can offer now is to be here with you."

"You're a _human_ – there's no _reason_ for you to be here," I protested. I groaned loudly, tilting my head to scream at the sky. "Hell is empty and all the devils are here!" It was no unfair to be haunted by uncooperative dreams – the Shuichi of past dreams had never so insisted in ruining my little salvations. "I wish mine eyes would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts..." The Shakespeare _the Tempest_ quotes easily rolled from my tongue. While it was never my real focus in life, the intricate stories had always captured my attention.

What I wasn't expecting was Shuichi's swift reply, quoting the same play. "Awake, dear heart, awake." Shuichi stroked the side of my face with his hand, wiping away my tears with his thumb. "Thou hast slept well _. Awake_."

Given my near-complete absence of physical contact, the sensation made me shiver a little. There's no imagining a sensation that you've forgotten exists.

The dream didn't fade.

My eyes locked on his, tears began flowing freely down my face, and something heavy constricted my chest. I broke out into frenetic laughter and threw my body forward, wrapping my arms around him. I held on as tight as possible, even though my own shaking sobs mixed with relieved laughter threatened to carry me away. He held me just as tightly; one arm around my shoulders, and a hand pressed against the back of my head, buried in my hair.

I felt his skin on mine, the Song buzzed against his flesh; playing a merry tune chorused by the thrumming melody of the blood in his veins. _But_ , the Song trilled _, he doesn't feel like we thought he would._

"You're _not_ human," I murmured. Panic – quick and overpowering – rushed through me. "You're not _– they didn't_ – ?" I grabbed at his shirt with feeble fingers. _No, not him, not him!_ I couldn't express what I needed to know, so instead I was pulling at the buttons on his shirt – I needed to know, needed to see, if he had a scar just like me.

He gently pried my fingers from his shirt and undid the last few buttons himself. "No, I wasn't converted in a Factory," he reassured me, letting me examine his unblemished torso for myself.

I ran my hands over his sternum a few times just to be certain. _No scar._ Relief washed away the last vestiges of my panic and fear, drowning out even the mountains of confusion that still lingered. It sapped the strength from my limbs, and they crumpled beneath me.

Shuichi caught me in an instant, sweeping my legs out from underneath me and lifting me into his arms. "May I carry you?" he asked. His hand on the backs of my knees burned terribly at my scars even through the thick fabric of my pants. _Don't touch me, I'm a monster_ , I thought, but nodded instead.

A feeling of perfect safety enveloped me, joining with the intense relief to create a fusion named _exhaustion_. Curled into his chest, clutching his shirt between white fingers, my consciousness started to drift away and I was happy to let it. My last waking thought was that he still smelled like roses.

* * *

I don't know how long I was asleep, but it must have been quite some time. I woke when Shuichi set me in my bed – the perfect bed that no one ever slept in. He noticed me stirring and whispered "I'll be right outside," gently in my ear.

That feeling of calm and peace and safety instantly evaporated. I latched a quick hand around his wrist. "Stay," I commanded.

He smiled at the strength in my voice, which I missed when I averted my eyes. "But…I don't – I don't sleep here," I mumbled. It took a moment to regain coordination in my limbs, and to get off the bed at all. I pulled the blankets from their hiding place, and threw them into the corner where I usually 'nested'. I felt ashamed. This was just one of a litany of secrets, but somehow this was the most embarrassing right now.

"Alright," Shuichi replied, not batting an eye. He whipped the thick blankets from the bed, and made a little pile right next to mine. He settled against the wall and rested his head back, letting his eyes fall into half-lidded relaxation.

I stared, standing where he had left me. "Something wrong?" he asked.

The instant acceptance had been unexpected. I had expected some form of protest – not that I had any reason to expect that. It just had always been that the world around me expected me to change, adapt, or accept the new norm. I wasn't used to someone doing things _my_ way, just for my comfort.

I shook my head, and settled into my nest in the corner. It was nice not to be alone.

* * *

 _Shit_.

I needed to change. All of my clothing options remaining did not include long sleeves. I stood in front of my little dresser, staring at the open drawer. I had never agonized about my lack of choices before, but today felt different.

It _was_ different.

I had woken later than I had ever been allowed to sleep in Alaric. Shuichi was already awake, gaze locked firmly on the closed door across the room. He didn't have the easy mussed appearance of someone who had slept on the floor – like me – but looked exactly as I had left him.

I had realized – with gratitude and embarrassment – that he had stayed awake all night, keeping watch for me, letting me rest under the veil of his security.

When he noticed I was awake he excused himself to the hallway, in order to give me the privacy to collect myself for the day. It wasn't until I was in the bath, scrubbing my face, that I realized a truly horrific fact.

Given that I was traveling through the chillier Alaric forests, and headed to the Palace, I had been wearing clothing that covered more skin. It had covered all of my scars and remaining tattoos, in fact.

I was more comfortable with my scars; unafraid for those in Alaric or the palace to see me as I was. But…

This was _Shuichi._

I swallowed my fear and shoved a hand into the drawer, pulling out a random top and bottom. It wouldn't matter anyway. It happened to be the same outfit Mukuro had given me in the first place – a high-necked black shirt that exposed the triple-scarring on each arm, and my favorite blue pants.

I ran my fingers through my damp hair quickly to loosen developing tangles in the messy curls. _Stop dawdling_ , I thought, making a face. I tugged on my boots and strode across the room, opening the door before I lost my nerve.

Shuichi was waiting directly opposite the hall from my door, arms crossed loosely over his chest and eyes gazing far down the hall. He turned in interest as I opened the door, uncrossing his arms.

"Good morning, Maggie," he greeted with a smile, but as his gaze instantly settled on the thick scars around my elbows and wrists and the tattoos that were scattered along my flesh, his smile fell slat. I squirmed under his stare, and he held it for a long time.

"Are you alright?" he asked. His voice had dropped a few notes.

"I'm fine," I responded automatically. "Just… I don't want to talk about it."

His stare dragged up from my arms, so I clasped my hands behind my back. _Please stop staring,_ I wished silently.

"You can come back in now," I stepped back into my room, leaving a gap for him to come back into my room.

"I suppose I should explain," Kurama stated quietly, pulling over the chair from the little desk.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around them tightly. "Probably," I agreed. My face had all but turned to stone, the excitement from the previous day having worn out and leaving a burning curiosity in its wake.

"First and foremost, I am known as Kurama here. Not quite in the same way that you are known as Hana; I am originally from the Makai, in a way."

 _He lied to me_ , my mind instantly cried. _But did he really,_ another voice replied. _You never asked, and how long did you really know each other?_

The conflict must have been instantly written on my face, as sheer agony flickered briefly across his. "Maggie," Kurama whispered. "Had I known that being forthcoming with you could possibly have prevented all of this, I would have told every soul in the world."

"Was any of it true?" I asked, gripping my legs more tightly.

Shuichi – no, _Kurama_ – looked almost angry. "It was _all_ true."

I leaned back slightly; retreating from the subconscious flaring of his energy. I reacted automatically by letting my own seep like a fine mist around me, creating a subtle glow.

Kurama reined it in fairly quickly, realizing the hostile gesture. "I apologize," he murmured. I gathered my own, but let a little linger as a faint glimmering on my skin – a reminder for Kurama to behave.

He sighed once, deeply. "My human mother named me Shuichi, and I have that human body with the soul of a fox demon; Youko Kurama. Thus I am best known by a name that is a combination of the two – as I am a combination of the human body and a demon soul: Kurama."

"How is that possible?" I asked, resting my chin on my knees. "From all that I know, there's no going halfsies with demonhood. You're human, or demon; period."

"I consciously suppressed the complete change when I inhabited the human body. When my time in the human world has reached a noticeable length I plan to release my humanity." My face scrunched with how indifferently he described it. "But that is for another time, I believe."

"Through a series of events much too complex to discuss now, I have come into some amount of responsibility here in the Makai, for another of the stewards. I was sidetracked from both my work here, and in the human world, helping a friend going through a difficult… transition." Kurama laced his fingers together, rubbing his thumbs idly. "I was in the human world to retrieve a book for this friend, and happened to meet a human woman. And somehow, though I believe we were both fighting it a little, I developed feelings for this woman."

My stomach clenched as his eyes moved from his hands to my face. His eyes grew dark. "Can you imagine how I felt when I learned she was dying? She must have been so afraid when she told me, and I could selfishly only focus on myself in that moment. I was angry – not at her, of course. I was angry with myself. Being what I am, I could have helped her – or tried, at least. But that would mean revealing what I was, and face what I was certain would only be rejection, or fear, or disgust. I wrestled with myself, but before I could decide, she was already ahead of me."

His dark gaze started to lighten – an expression seeming to grow straight from his soul. "You see, she hadn't been looking for a knight to rescue her, she had been looking for a sword. She had decided to fight. She had decided to _live._ She was a fearsome warrior battling a creature inside her intent on destroying her brain. She left for war, and I couldn't have been more proud."

"But I learned it was a trap. I learned… I learned something terrible had happened to my warrior." The glittering light that had been growing was gone from him eyes, quick as it had come. "I wanted to tear the world apart. In my anger, I destroyed something that might have led me to her, as I chased false leads. You gave your bracelet to comfort a young Dutch girl named Maggie, who was ill on the Auction day."

I nearly bolted across the room, but instead fisted my hands in the bedspread; eyes growing wide and pleading. "You saw her?! Is she alright?" I had hoped that the younger girl had survived, and I was strangely desperate to know more.

Kurama nodded. "She was healthy when I saw her last – I understand she is being well cared for."

An awkward silence fell between us. I could sense that he wanted me to reciprocate; to describe what had happened after he lost my trail at the Factory; to talk about how I came to be ringed in scars and covered in warding tattoos.

But I couldn't.

It hurt too much.

"Would you like to talk about this?" Kurama finally pressed me.

"No." I replied instantly.

His eyes darkened. "Maggie-"

" _No._ What's going to change if I talk about it? Nothing!" I laughed bitterly. "Aren't you happy you spent all this time looking for a girl who's bitter, and broken, and full of spite inside? She's nothing that anyone could ever want." The bitterness was swallowing me up inside, whispering hatred and loneliness. "What _do_ you want from me?" I snapped, suddenly suspicious.

I shouldn't have been, and I knew that deep inside, but real kindness – without hidden agendas and power plays – seemed nonexistent in this new life. I couldn't accept that this man – kind though he may have been in my earlier suffering life – was just here for me.

Kurama accepted my anger with a stony face, and lay open hands before him. "Tell me how to help you; I don't know what to do."

I tucked into myself, hiding my face and gripping at my head with shaking hands. "I don't need your help! I got through everything just fine before you came! I'm fine! I'm fine! _I'm fine!"_

Kurama didn't respond to my screaming, or make any kind of sound. My breathing steadied, and I straightened a bit, releasing my head but not looking at Kurama. I didn't want to know what his expression was at the moment. "You can't do anything _;_ no one can." I looked at the ground, fists clenched and shaking. "What's done is done. It doesn't do any good to discuss it."

And that was how the conversation died.

"I need to go back to Court tomorrow," I stated plainly. "God only knows what they might have gotten rolling while I was gone."

I glanced up long enough to see Kurama nod. "Alright," he agreed.

More silence.

"Shall we get something to eat?" Kurama offered, standing. It was a peace offering, I recognized. _Let's talk about banal, safe topics over a meal_ , it said.

There was a godawful rift between us; a severing of lives that used to be, and dreams that had long since died. _I knew you when I was a human_ , I thought, _but I never really knew you, I suppose._ It seemed almost reasonable to send him on his way – a thing of the past that only served to remind me of what I had lost was too painful to want around – but I couldn't do it. The words wouldn't come.

The rift between us was filled with pain and unspoken secrets. Kurama had given me a seriously abbreviated version of how he came to be in the Makai, but there was so much more just waiting to be unearthed.

The rift between us seemed to be growing with every thought, and we were trying to bridge it with just a few flimsy sticks tied together.

It was a start.

* * *

A/N: Hi Readers – finally, right? Was it everything you hoped it would be?

There are many different version of this chapter, and bits were moved around, rewritten, or removed altogether. I was trying to avoid classic clichés, literally running away being the key cliché to avoid.

Now I get to stop having to remember whether to write Kurama or Shuichi! Woohoo!

On Hiei and Aria – some have expressed concern with Hiei's over-protectiveness. Remember your timing for this with WD, but also know that you don't have all the facts yet. Just know this – Hiei is _not_ overreacting. That's all I'll say for now.

On a totally unrelated note; I love this delightful children's cartoon you might have heard of called _Steven Universe_ , and they just had a really great PTSD episode called "Mindful Education". Definitely feeling a lot of relevancy here. Yeah, a _children's show_ did an episode that addresses PTSD.

Many thanks to my reviewers: TiaKay, Zayren Heart, Counting Sinful Stars, Melissa Fairy, Uqor45, Guest, ischyros, Taylor, Divine Demonic Assassin, versailled214, Daisuke-the-Skyhaven Prince, bibiana27, Elicorn, livtink, buzzk97, Caralirani, Miqila, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, pandacutie89, UzumakiRaven, SilverDragonsTail, Lariee, and skullchildforever!

(Welcome, new reviewers!)

PLEASE REVIEW!


	28. The Space Between Us

Woden grumbled along at the back of the small traveling pack. Hana and the fox walked together a little ahead of Woden, bringing up the rear. They were traveling at a much slower pace than the larger demon was accustomed to, but he always deferred to Hana's preferences.

The old demon was extremely protective of the small female in front of him – but not in situations that demanded physical violence. He knew the small demoness was more than capable of handling that herself. He was more concerned about her heart. Metaphorical heart, anyway; her feelings.

She never talked about what had happened when she was enslaved, or even how long she had endured. She survived, though she bore a flicker of hatred deep inside, buried under fear and pain. It was terribly familiar.

Woden worried about what was going on in the little woman's head.

She had not cried out when he inscribed a thousand wards on her flesh. She worked hard – harder than blood-born demons – to master her energies, if only to prevent more accidents. But that flicker of hatred would lash out at the slightest provocation, and it was all Woden could do to stay out of her line of fire. It would stay buried for days, weeks, or even months, but a wrong touch or word would send her mind right back to that lost time of her life, and she would explode.

She had asked about becoming a living weapon – as though it would keep her fear and hatred from overwhelming her. It wouldn't; power doesn't give you a reason to get out of bed in the morning, or keep grief from swallowing you whole. Woden scratched at his shirt, the ward underneath it buzzing angrily against his senses.

She had seemed like she was on a good road for a little while, even with idiotic diplomats messing with her feelings. Yasuo was an annoyance – Woden shouldn't have left the little lizard to watch over her. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Yasuo aside, there was now a much greater threat to Hana's mental well-being.

The _fox._

Hana and the fox shared casual conversation several strides ahead, discussing matters of little importance while they adjusted to renewed companionship. Hana's body language was mildly guarded, but she appeared to be trying her hardest to reconnect.

Woden glared at Kurama. He didn't like the fox. He smelled like _pretty_ things and deception.

He had appeared with great fanfare – carrying a sleeping Hana in his arms, energy flared high and wide to ward off anyone who might dare approach. Woden heard from the guards how the demon seemed more like the fabled Youko, and less like the mild-mannered Kurama with whom they were more familiar; his red hair would dance in the wind and streaks of silver would appear and vanish as swiftly as breaking waves, exploding stars of gold in his green eyes leveled calmly on the path in front of him.

No one dared to confront him.

Woden snorted to himself. If he had been at the fortress, he _damn sure_ would have stopped the fox. Besides the threat to the fortresses' security, it played terribly for Hana's image as a strong demon. He doubted Kurama considered it when traipsing through the forest like a damn white knight.

He also wasn't fond of the fact that the fox had been allowed unrestricted access to Hana's personal chambers. That related more to her ability to defend territory, and had equally dangerous implications.

Hana seemed equally suspicious, but that flicker of hatred stayed away whenever she looked at him. She seemed hesitant to allow her mind to follow the will of her body – to be close, to smile, to laugh. But she could not deny the instant reaction she seemed to have in his presence – a calming of the spirit that always seemed to boil in anger. Woden wouldn't have been surprised if the Song itself was ringing in his presence – calming the air with some sub-audible chime that relieved the tension in her shoulders.

That Song was a tricky thing, Woden had realized. Most demons didn't have to deal with an energy that had a mind of its own, born in another demon and forcefully transplanted. Woden had wondered many times if the previous demoness had struggled similarly with the Song, or if the trauma of her death is what created the vast sea of power.

Hana had come to some sort of peace with the tumultuous wrath that lived in her Core, with a great deal of help from Woden's wards. It forced her to work at developing control, although she seemed more like a guide than a master.

Woden hoisted his bag a little higher on his shoulder, although it hadn't needed adjusting. The sound of fabric on fabric made Hana glance back at him, quirking an eyebrow.

Constant vigilance.

While the little demoness had never shared exactly what she had endured in her short enslavement, Woden could guess. He had seen the scars. He had heard the screaming in the middle of the night. He had seen the dead she left in her wake. He could see the flicker of hate in her eyes.

Woden shook his head briefly to answer the question in her eyes, and she shrugged.

With all that to be considered, it was something truly mystical that the presence of the fox eased her pain – body, soul, and mind. She was fighting it, that much was certain, but she was losing the battle.

Without warning, something the fox said made her laugh. She tossed her head back, exposing her neck involuntarily, laughing easily and heartily.

Woden missed a step in the road and stumbled lightly. Even as a new demon, Hana had subconsciously acted on the more feral demonic responses – exposing the soft, vulnerable parts of one's self was… dangerous. It was reserved for close companions and partners.

Hana glanced back at Woden with poorly-concealed concern in her eyes. "Forget how to walk, old man?" she asked.

Woden snorted. "I've forgotten many things – ya should hope I've forgotten how to discipline ill-behaved children, m'Lady." She laughed again, but it lacked that vulnerability from before. Woden's moustache twitched with a smile.

* * *

Lesser demons scuttled out of my way as I stormed down the Palace hall. Not five minutes after arriving I was already in a foul mood.

 _Whoever gives out luck around here skipped over me entirely_ , I snarled in my mind, _I can't get even a little time to settle in before this shit hits the fan_. The lizard demon – whose name was Tokage, I finally remembered – had brought me bad news the moment I arrived at the Palace. Some cock-sure demon had brought up the Factories again in my absence. It was up for debate again – thankfully – but the _nerve_ of it set me on edge.

It left me in a terrible mood as I walked to dinner, the Song letting off sub-audible tones that made one's teeth rattle uncomfortably. It helped ensure I went uncrossed in the hall. As I swept into the banquet hall I spotted Kurama already seated, and Woden leaning up against a wall nearby.

I greeted both rather curtly, plopping down into my seat and grabbing a few pieces of fruit and a scoop of a sweet food that somewhat resembled oatmeal. _Son of a bitch._ I tapped my spoon on the table irritably. I was trying to formulate a response for Court, but my temper kept rising above my sense of reason.

"Is everything alright?" Kurama asked quietly. I'm sure my anger was palpable.

"Everything's fine," I snapped shortly.

Kurama nodded. "I hope that you would feel comfortable talking to me about anything that might weigh on your mind."

He was just so, so… _understanding_ , it bordered on patronizing. It grated on my nerves – why couldn't he show some other feeling? I wasn't a little weak human that he could take pity on anymore. I was strong, and deserved more than the sad look in his eyes.

 _It snapped something deep in my chest, where all my pain seemed to live pressed up against my ribs. I always hurt;_ my body always ached at poorly healed joints, and my brain rattled easily from one topic to another. Time hadn't washed away the memories that reemerged in my nightmares, so they lingered in the shadows of my body.

As it snapped to attention my mouth spat out vicious things. "I'm quite capable of handling my own affairs without your advice, Kurama."

"I'm sure you are, but there's no shame in asking for a little assistance." He smiled, and it somehow came across as patronizing in my view.

 _Shame; ah, my old friend. What could you possibly know about shame?_ I gripped the spoon I had been tapping angrily on the table, and the metal groaned in my hand.

 _"I don't need to talk to anyone, especially not_ _you_ _." As attached as I felt to him, he seemed to be constantly reminding me that he knew me before the conversion. I didn't want to think about before – it hurt. It hurt almost as much as all the scars on my skin. I just wanted to stop thinking about it and move forward, never looking back._ "Do not think me ungrateful for your valiant efforts to 'save' me, Kurama, but they were entirely unnecessary, given the circumstances." It came out more condescending than I had intended, but it was too late to turn back now.

 _That's it; put distance between you. He wants you to feel the pain and confusion all over again. We can't do that._ I was doing a fair job of convincing even myself that I didn't need him, as long as I didn't look directly at him.

Kurama looked almost crestfallen. "Perhaps, when you've had more time…" His face almost dissuaded me. _But he's beautiful and we want him. We want him to stay with us and touch us and call out to us with his sweet voice._

" _Time_ is not the issue here. I don't need _time_ ; I've had all the time in the world and it _still-"_ it caught in my throat. Admitting to the pain was just as unbearable as living with it – it would bring more pity, and that would claw at me from the inside.

 _"I need nothing from you or any other demon here._ This is the space between us," I barked, standing abruptly and sweeping an arm over the table. "And let it be no less."

Kurama did not call after me as I swiftly left the banquet hall.

 _No more pain._

 _Let it be done._

* * *

I didn't see Kurama for the rest of the evening, or the next morning.

I firmly ignored the sour feeling in my stomach that strongly indicated I had crossed a line. It did seem unnecessarily harsh in the light of day, but I hadn't crossed paths to apologize. I had to focus on Court, I reasoned, and there was simply no time for personal squabbles. I got comfortable in my chair, gripping the arm rests a little too tightly to release a little pent-up anger. Woden stood at my shoulder once more.

The seed of doubt in my mind was convinced that Kurama was using me for some hidden agenda – he wanted to manipulate my pain into some sick dependency, leaving me vulnerable. I knew _Mukuro_ was using me, but it didn't bother me as much as the concept of being used by Kurama. She had no love for her own kind, though understood the need for Alaric to be represented. She needed someone strong-willed, and well-endowed with power to hold the seat – she couldn't send just _anyone_. Her lieutenant was off gallivanting through the fields with his wife, otherwise she would send him. I know many demons wondered about his absence in Court; he was fould-tempered, so perhaps his wife would make a better diplomat? Demons didn't look too kindly on positions achieved that way, though.

Woden cleared his throat roughly, drawing me from my thoughts. I glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. He nodded his head to the side, gesturing. I turned, and instantly spotted the familiar red hair.

My jaw dropped as Kurama took the Seat of Gandara.

 _What?_

 _ **What?!**_

Woden coughed again, twice, _loudly_ , and I closed my mouth with a _clack_ of teeth. My palms grew sweaty and the sour feeling in my stomach grew stronger. It seemed in avoiding any topic of real importance, I had somehow missed Kurama's apparently lofty position in the Makai. _I don't even know what kind of demon he is_ , I realized.

His seat was too far away to converse privately, so I was left with a hundred questions buzzing around my head as King Enki took his seat, and Court began.

It didn't take long for the issue of human converts to completely capture the floor. The cock-sure demon that had brought the issue back into the light was – not surprisingly – from an un-affiliated nomadic group. They protested being unable to create or purchase the slaves, as they were commonly used as their main source of disposable labor.

He was quickly shouted down without me having to say a word – many other aligned provinces and States didn't want that many 'abominations' running all around the Makai. The argument evolved into one for extermination, or deportation. "Can we not just send them back to the human world?" some idiot asked.

My skin nearly sizzled with fury as I finally spoke for the first time that day. "You would doom the human world for your own convenience?" I snarled. "They are not created with the knowledge necessary to control their powers, and would soon tear the very fabric of that earth apart. Tell me, does Lissane province fear that it will be consumed by human converts desperate to spend eons of their newly extended lives sitting at Court blathering on about topics that do not concern them?" I demanded, addressing the diplomat directly.

My tongue was sharp today.

Kurama was silent; fingers laced together under his chin. It bothered me to extremes that he hadn't spoken on the issue at all.

King Enki cleared his throat, waving a hand to clear the air. "I thank all those who have chosen to speak on this issue; I will announce me decision tomorrow. For now, let us move on to other matters."

A lilac-skinned demoness with yellow hair stood from the middle of the audience, wringing her hands nervously. "Uh, the peoples of Harth would like to request permission from Alaric to harvest _Munera matris_ , from its woods. We use it for-"

"We know what the plant is for." I interrupted. "Alaric will allow it. Send representatives to the fortress upon entering Alaric, and before you leave, so your presence may be noted appropriately." The lilac demoness thanked me swiftly before sitting down twice as fast.

I shook some of the ire from my skin and stood to announce a concern for Alaric. "Your Highness, Alaric has requested additional assistance in managing the influx of stray humans on her territories."

Kurama hadn't said a damn word about human converts, but on that issue he responded without missing a beat. "Is Alaric suggesting that their soldiers are too few in number to carry weak and powerless humans back to the openings they wander through? Gandara would be more than willing to accept that burden along with their territories – to be shared equally with Tourin, of course."

I bristled and turned to glare. How dare he suggest that Alaric was weak? "Alaric is more than capable of handling the wandering babes that fall through every hole in the ground, but the number is growing greater and faster with every passing day. It seems as though every human with a heartbeat is intent on ending up in the Makai, and we are asking a great deal of our soldiers to deal with the cries from human tongues every day indefinitely."

Kurama shrugged. "Do you expect that any good soldier from Gandara or Tourin – if I might speak for them only hypothetically – would willingly join such an unpleasant endeavor? If, as you say, Alaric is more than capable of returning humans to their world without incident as they were assigned by King Enki himself, then why do you need more soldiers?"

He had backed me into a damn corner. "We must cease to think of the Makai as isolated provinces, but more as organs in one living creature. The suffering of one will impact all of those around it, whether directly or indirectly. Alaric sits at the pinnacle of health innovation in the Makai, with several technologies still in development. Were she to spend all of her time turning back human strays, there would be no more medical advances."

I addressed Kurama directly. "Only recently, Gandara was plagued by an invasive plant that threatened the safety of its cities – a wildfire nearly swallowed your capital city whole, did it not? Think of the loss if you spent all of your time beating back flames at your doorstep."

Kurama hid a smile behind his hand – _what was so funny?_

I continued. "My point is this - our Court is not merely a place to exchange a harsh discourse and lay down unreasonable rules. It is a place of negotiation and compromise for the positive future that we wish for our descendants. That negotiation and compromise includes helping others in ways that do not always seem to directly benefit our own lands."

"Such weakness is not becoming of our kind," he shrugged off.

My nose twitched with a repressed snarl. "Our kind has evolved little in the last thousand years – we bicker and battle as though what face holds the highest seat truly matters. Our future – a lasting peace – will require more arguing, more conversation, more negotiation, than we as a species have ever attempted."

"How can you speak for a demonic species that you have only recently joined?" There was a murmur of assent drifting around the room.

My power flared, silencing the dissidents. "I am what I am _because_ of that lack of evolution, and many in this room would agree that I have done more for _both species_ in this Court than many in the past thousand years. We cannot rely on selfish actions to change the world; it certainly has done no good to change things in the past."

Kurama steepled his fingers, locking a cold gaze with mine. "But why should Alaric – or any of the lands or territories – talk about the past if we cannot change it? Talking would only serve to revive old grudges and enemies and restrict that advancement towards your 'future'."

I took a calming breath, and softened my tone. "We are _here_ to talk. This unending argumentative bickering we call 'Court' allows for the airing of grievances and concerns and even _fear_ without the risk of taking action that lacks sensible forethought. We gain a reasonable amount of foresight by referring to the past, and ensuring we do not repeat our mistakes. We must address our past and the anger or fear that comes with it if we can ever hope to be better than we are."

Kurama's face split into a neat smile. "I couldn't agree more, Lady Hana." There was a brief murmur following the direct address – Lords representing territories generally addressed one another by the name of the Land. It prevented the petty arguing in which we had just engaged.

Son of a bitch. He had just tricked me into arguing _his point_.

"Gandara will send a brigade to assist with the human return effort. Will one year's service suffice to give Alaric's troops respite?" The tone of his voice was authoritative, and nothing like the gentle tone to which I had become accustomed. As I was a different person at Court, so was he.

Before I could consider it further a messenger trotted up the steps, carrying a little note in his tiny hands. With a few deep bows, he handed it to him. He was jittery, probably from having to wait for the proper time to interrupt Kurama's attention.

He opened it slowly, only glancing at the note briefly, eyes flicking once from one side to another. Without a word, he stood and exited the room, the sound of his footsteps concealed by the usual idle chatter humming in the back of the hall.

Woden and I could only exchange brief confused expressions before Enki announced we were moving on with our proceedings for the day.

* * *

I was mostly useless for the rest of the day, curiosity drumming at the inside of my brain. I tracked down the messenger as soon as we adjourned for the day, finding him was an easy enough task. The _tac-tac_ of his shoes against the stone floor had made a very distinctive sound, and sound was my specialty.

I found him lurking in a dark corner of a back hall, reading the messages he was supposed to be delivering. Typical.

"Where is Lord Kurama?" I didn't bother to announce myself to ease his nerves, and the demon jumped in surprise.

He shoved the letters into the little satchel at his side, poorly concealing the broken seals. "He was summoned away, I believe, m'Lady."

"Where?" I barked.

He cowered lower, trying not to make eye contact. "I don't know exactly, m'Lady," he whimpered.

I pulsed the Song just enough to make his feet buzz. "I've never heard of a messenger delivering a note without reading it first. What did it say?"

He was openly sweating now, and drew the back of the sleeve against his forehead. "M'Lady, t'was nothing of great importance."

" _Answer me_." The Song rattled him harder, and he stumbled a little in place.

"It only said one word; ' _Temple_ ,' my Lady. Nothing more." He sounded sincere, and I backed off on the Song.

I tilted my head just a touch to the side. "Who sent the message?"

"I cannot say – I'm sorry, m'Lady." He was sweating again, seemingly terrified of my impending wrath.

I snarled, and he cowered. "Have him find me _immediately_ upon his return," I ordered.

"Of course, m'Lady," he nodded repeatedly, and scuttled away when I waved him off.

 _Damn._

* * *

Kurama was not at Court the next day, and Yuda occupied the seat for Gandara. I had meant to ask Woden about Kurama's powers and position, but I honestly didn't have the opportunity - from the moment I woke to the instant I curled up in my little nest to attempt sleep I was absurdly busy.

I was annoyed for most of the day, as Enki had deferred making a decision until he had more time to consider the issues at hand. He even hinted that he would be opening it up for debate again, as he was not certain whether he had a handle on the entire issue.

It seemed Mukuro had neglected almost all of her political and diplomatic responsibilities at Court and as word had spread that there was actually _someone_ representing Alaric consistently at Court more and more was brought to me for discussion or approval. It was exhausting.

My day was so packed that it didn't occur to me that I hadn't spoken to Yasuo since his proposal until he appeared on my doorstep late in the evening. I answered the knock at the door with papers in hand, a frown almost permanently plastered on my face by that point.

"What do you want?" I asked, opening the door without looking up. Woden – planted across the hall – would have stopped anyone dangerous from even approaching the door, so I wasn't concerned about my lack of attention.

"Good evening, my Lady. I hope I'm not disturbing you?" Yasuo's familiar smooth tone made me glance up, my expression finally falling out of a scowl.

"Of course not, please," I gestured with the papers that I was holding.

He held up a hand to decline. "I was actually hoping you might join me for an evening stroll, and perhaps a cup of tea?" He smiled his charming grin. "I'm sure my Lady could use a break from her thankless toil."

I shrugged, and dumped the stack on a side table just inside the door. "I was about to go blind from reading for so long anyway."

I closed the door behind me, and Woden leaned away from the wall, falling an appropriate distance behind us to defend, but not overhear the conversation.

We had only walked a few steps from my door before Yasuo broached – gently, to his credit – the topic I had wanted to avoid.

"Have you had ample time to consider my offer?" He asked, clasping his arms behind his back. Somehow it only served to bring attention to his crisp clothing – a rich red tunic that well-complemented his golden hair.

I resisted the urge to sigh loudly and/or smack my forehead with a hand. "Yasuo, I believe I made it quite clear when we last met that I had no interest in taking a partner."

Yasuo nodded. "I do remember. Truth be told, I was hoping you had changed your mind. Might I again ask why?"

"Are you digging for information, my friend?" I asked, slapping a smile on my face to hide my suspicious feelings.

He chuckled lightly. "I dare not pry, my dear. It was only curiosity that compelled me to ask." And he let it drop.

He steered away from the sensitive topics while we walked, choosing instead to discuss Court topics that would soon be brought to discussion. He agreed that the issue of the Factories would not soon be dropped, especially because Enki seemed to waffle around on making a decision.

Yasuo had tea already prepared when we entered a little side room. It could be considered a sort of salon – with a few comfortable looking chairs and a low table in the middle. It was the sort of table I had always propped my feet up on when I was a child, and I had to resist the urge to do so as soon as I sat down. Woden gave me a small nod from the doorway, before closing the door and staying out in the hall.

Yasuo poured me a cup of tea from the steaming pot, and then himself. "My Lady," he offered, handing me the cup.

I took a tentative sip of the hot liquid, and had to slap a calm expression over my near-instant reaction. It was _very_ sweet. I wasn't a huge fan of sweets, and this was pushing well beyond my preferred levels. I managed a bright smile, and it seemed to satisfy Yasuo.

"I hope my proposal won't affect our ability to work together in Court, my friend," Yasuo sighed, taking a slight sip from his own teacup. "It would hardly be to my benefit to alienate Alaric's representative. I doubt Mukuro would send anyone more generous to replace you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Replace me? Do you imagine that I might not return someday?"

Yasuo chuckled and shook his head. "Of course not, my Lady – it was a slip of the tongue. Forgive me."

I sipped the overly-sweet tea delicately, trying to keep it off my tongue as much as possible. Horrible stuff. "In the same vein, it would hardly be to my benefit to alienate my best supporter at Court. We do work well together, Yasuo."

Something glittered in his gold eyes for a moment, and I could only assume it was amusement as it was soon covered by a blink and a flick of his hair. "I do my best, my Lady. I can only imagine how distressing it must be to hear an issue to personal to you debated so coldly. At the same time, I hope you understand why I cannot speak more passionately on the issue."

I did understand. Yasuo's position in Court was strictly limited to trade, and unless the Factories were suddenly approved and sale of slaves brought into common trade, he would be unable to voice an opinion. Even then, because he dealt with so many different provinces, States, and stewardships, it would still be to his benefit to avoid expressing an opinion.

I took a sip of tea to give myself time to form a response, and instantly regretted it. "I do, my friend. I hope that in the future your voice is not so restricted."

Yasuo leaned back in his chair, drinking his tea deeply, which I mirrored for courtesy's sake. "Then we are of one mind, my Lady."

* * *

Another cup of saccharine tea later, Yasuo excused himself to retire for the evening, finally freeing me from having to consume another drop. He left me swiftly, albeit with an apology for the speed, leaving me to collect myself before standing.

The sugar – or whatever sweetener demons used – must have gone to my head a little, as I felt a little fuzzy around the edges. Was demonic sweetener alcoholic? I honestly didn't know. It felt like being both ill and buzzed at the same time, and made me stumble on standing.

"Are you alright, m"Lady?" Woden asked, his voice barely drifting through the haze in my head. _When did he come in?_ I wondered, before realizing that I had walked out of the room already.

"I'm fine," I waved dismissively, "just need sleep. Long day."

I felt ill. The saccharine sweetness of the tea was clinging to my mouth, making me feel nauseated and a little dizzy. I walked slowly returning to my room, and if my senses had been properly functioning I would have felt the concern rolling off of Woden in waves.

I opened my door and shuffled in, not bothering to wish Woden a good evening. Chances were he would stand in front of my door all night anyway. I flopped over on my bed, not willing to go through the effort of pulling the blankets off my bed to make my nest. I needed to curl up and just die.

* * *

The nightmares hit me full force as soon as I closed my eyes. It was a familiar scene – I was chained to a long line of bodies. Huge hands reached for my limbs – rending, tearing. For some reason, my mind had mixed together the Factory and the march – my chest was torn open and Chinmoku's core was gleaming in the darkness. Blood poured down my chest freely, splashing between my legs as we ran, as they pulled me apart. I screamed and begged and made whatever sounds they wanted, praying it would stop. Screaming and begging didn't make it stop.

Nothing made it stop.

But then – as always – the scene shifted. I was free of the chains, and menacing faces threatened me from across a rainy clearing. I lashed out with Song, slicing huge boughs from trees, and cutting up the earth with a mighty fury.

But it wasn't enough – it was never enough. I felt so tightly restricted, and felt like I was moving slowly, so slowly. The ogres were laughing at me – taunting me. I couldn't hurt them – I would be a slave for the rest of my life, and they would punish me for my defiance.

Freed from the chains again, I could attack. I launched myself at the ogre, Song thundering and flashing through the air around me. I landed heavily against their body, and my hands instantly wrapped around their throat. He struggled, pulling at my wrists – so small in his big hands. For the additional force, I pressed the blade of my arm against their throat, riding the undulations of their struggling with ease.

They reached out with a huge hand, and though I thought they were going to smack me across the face, they only stroked the side of my face gently.

I recoiled in surprise, and blinked repeatedly. The scene cleared slowly, as though a thick veil was lifted from my eyes as the nightmare was slow to release me.

I wasn't in the forest; I was in my suite at the Palace.

It wasn't an ogre I was strangling.

 _It was Kurama._

I sprang backwards, hands and feet scrambling on the cold floor into a far corner. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" _Oh my god_ , I thought as Kurama struggled to catch his breath, _I almost killed him._ My voice was rough and croaking – I must have been screaming in my sleep again.

I sank to the floor in the furthest corner of the room and pulled my limbs toward myself. My hands were trembling with the strain from trying to strangle someone – _not just anyone; someone precious to you_. My trembling intensified and hot shame pressed at the back of my eyes.

Kurama sat up slowly, massaging his throat. "Maggie," he rasped, "are you alright?"

I couldn't believe him. "Are you kidding me?! I should be asking you!" I yelled, tears actually slipping down my face.

He offered a smile that resembled more of a grimace, and it tugged painfully in my gut. "Just answer the question – are you alright?" he pressed.

I paused before answering, and then nodded. He looked relieved. "When did you get back?" I asked quietly. It felt wrong to move past what I had done – the scent of my fear and anger still lingered in the air, and Kurama still had a hand on his throat.

He massaged it a moment longer before letting his hand drop. I could see a vibrant red mark where me arm had pressed down with all the force my body could muster. "Just a few minutes ago – you told _several_ demons to send for me immediately when I returned; it seemed urgent."

I hung my head a little. I _had_ made it sound urgent, but only because I had so many questions. I had no one to blame but myself for my actions. "You should know better than to try to wake someone who's having a nightmare."

He shook his head slightly, wincing as it pulled at his tender neck. "I didn't – you practically leapt across the room to attack me."

I cowered in my corner. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

Kurama moved to kneel on the floor in front of me, and very slowly – as one might approach a skittish animal – set a hand on my cheek, guiding me to look up him. "Don't be – it's a part of being a demon. Half of you is always sensing for danger, even when you're sleeping. A friend of mine – you remember Yusuke – was in a deep sleep on a boat and punched a demon that was attacking him. It was quite amusing at the time," he chuckled at the memory. "That being said, there's someone I think you should talk to."

I turned my head, moving from Kurama's grasp. "I don't think a therapist will help, Kurama."

Kurama did not attempt to touch my face again, letting his hand fall away. "You're fighting a losing battle with the past. If you won't talk to me, you need to talk to _someone_. I have someone in mind who's not a therapist; a friend. A friend who's been through all this before."

"Oh really – you have a friend who used to be a human but had her chest cut open and demon parts sewn inside?" My expression was skeptical, and tone sarcastic.

He smiled knowingly. "Yes. She married my best friend."

I bit my tongue a little. "Oh."

He stood from the floor, brushing some dust from his pants. "They've been a tad difficult to locate as of late, but just returned to the Human World for a short period – I was called away to assist on very short notice."

I took the hand he offered to help me stand from the floor. "Assist with what?" I asked.

Kurama smiled warmly, and it touched me. "The birth of their first child."

* * *

A/N: My dear readers, I love you all. Thank you all so much for your patience and I hope it's understandable that this chapter took almost a month to write, and really get it right. It's really long, so I hope that begins to make up for the wait.

I promise I will not abandon this story, or the next. You will get a full trilogy, **and all of your questions will eventually be answered**. Because gee, remember a character from Waking Dreams who just sort of vanished, and her motives were never thoroughly explained? Yeah. That's weird. Can't possibly be significant. Nah.

You might wonder why Maggie seemed to flip-flop so much with her emotions and opinions in this chapter, but just remember that she's dealing with some serious PTSD, and that's completely normal. Kurama as well might seem overly kind – at least until his manipulative side started to come out at Court – but he definitely recognizes that Maggie has been seriously traumatized.

By the way – I don't know if it bores you all to tears, but I LOVE writing the political stuff that happens at Court. Most of what's discussed is important to the plot, too, by the way.

Thanks for being here.

And SHIT SHIT HOLY SHIT GUYS we just passed 600 reviews.

MANY MANY thanks to my reviewers: skullchildforever, Uqor45, Nevermorea, Taylor, Melissa Fairy, livtink, Kitsune to Tenshi-chan, Lariee, Counting Sinful Stars, Chibisensei110787, CalicoKitty402, TiaKay, Tsuki Kistune Moon Fox, Miqila, SailorDeath13, PrinceMaoyan, Divine Demonic Assassin, SilverDragonsTail, Elicorn, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, and theicephoenixfallenangel!

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	29. The Hours

Portal travel was a surreal experience – leaping into a swirling galactic void was completely counterintuitive, and it really was only Kurama at my side that kept panic at bay. Woden seemed less than pleased to be left behind, but the idea of traveling to the human world seemed safe enough.

The swirling amalgam of colors was somewhat nauseating, and at the same time captivatingly beautiful. A thought drifted by with a particularly vivid shade of blue. "How are we doing this? I thought there was a barrier to keep demons out of the Human World?" I asked as we floated through space.

"Spirit World portals allow for travel that bypasses the barrier entirely." Kurama smiled. "Although on paper you aren't here; this portal was approved for me alone, so we can't linger too long or the SDF will notice that an unauthorized demon has gotten through."

We emerged somewhat suddenly from the portal in a courtyard of a large temple, and it took me a half-moment to find my footing again.

A Torii gate overlooked a steep flight of stairs to my right, and the temple was partially concealed by trees to my left. The air smelled so sweet, and I breathed deeply. I hardly recognized it anymore.

"Maggie?" Kurama called, already several steps ahead of me towards the temple.

"I'm coming; sorry," I replied. The atmosphere had an odd effect on me – I had almost reflexively switched personalities as soon as I touched down on human soil. Some of the permanent tension left my shoulders, and my head almost buzzed with the sudden lightness.

Kurama led me around the temple, following a narrow porch that wrapped around the building. My head whipped from side to side, trying to take in the easy green nature of the environment, and come to terms with a safety and calm that I had long forgotten. Birds twittered in the dappled light, singing sweet spring melodies.

We rounded a corner, and two figures came into view. There was a woman sitting on the porch, her feet swinging in the air, and a man leaning against a supportive column. They were a study in contrasts. The man was all darkness and shadow, save for a slight shock of white in his hair and piercing red eyes that locked onto us as soon as we turned the corner. I was started by how hot the glare that settled on us physically felt on my skin.

The woman, on the other hand, looked like a sunbeam that took human form. Her brown-blonde hair shone in the light and glittered gold, while her blue eyes caught mine and cooled the burns left by her husband. She smiled, and a rosy glow stretched across sun-kissed cheeks.

She waved with a free arm – I noticed a small bundle cradled in the other, and a faint tuft of baby hair peeking from the folds. Beside me, Kurama waved back. He stopped me with an arm, requesting "wait here a moment."

He covered the space between us with ease, and the shadow-man met him in the middle. The air seemed tense, but none of it touched Kurama. He smiled as the shadow-man barked something brusquely.

Kurama walked past him after a few more words, approaching the sun-woman. Her smile glittered in the light, and she reached out a hand for him. With an easy twitch of his hand, he produced a little yellow flower. The sun-woman laughed, taking the flower. The shadow-man rejoined the sun-woman, leaning up against his column again.

Kurama waved me over. It took a force of will to get my feet moving again. Something lingered darkly in my chest, constricting my throat. _You don't belong in that happiness,_ the darkness whispered to me.

But I walked over anyway. Kurama placed a hand on my shoulder, drawing me closer to the little group. "Maggie, allow me to introduce you to Aria and Hiei. You have heard of them as the botanical cataloguers of the Makai, Lord and Lady Jaganshi, and the supposed heirs of the stewardship of Alaric should Mukuro choose to retire."

The shadow-man, Hiei, snorted. "Hn, is Mukuro still pushing that nonsense?"

Kurama shot me a knowing look.

Hiei was already glaring at me – for what reason I have no idea – arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Stop it, you'll scare her," his wife chided, smacking him on the arm.

"Hello." I greeted weakly. _This is the woman who's supposed to be just like me?_

"Hi," she replied, smiling. "Would you like to sit down?" She tossed a look to her husband that clearly said _get lost, bub; you're making her nervous._ She shot a similar look to Kurama when he chuckled lightly.

Kurama set a hand on my shoulder again. "You'll be alright on your own?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, reaching up to squeeze his hand. "I'm good, thanks." It sounded a little harsh, but I hoped the smile that followed seemed earnest.

Kurama and Hiei vanished into the temple, and I was alone with Aria.

She let the silence hang in the air, interrupted only by birdsong and the faint breathing of the infant in her arms. She seemed content in that emptiness; an unusual trait for a demoness. I was not accustomed to stillness, and it made my skin crawl. The Song started to churn inside me, and I fidgeted in place.

Aria noticed my discomfort. "So, shall we talk about you?" she asked. My awkward silence reigned supreme. "Orrrrrr I can talk about me for a minute?" I nodded rapidly, unable to find my voice.

"Alrighty then!" She cleared her throat. She took a deep breath, and held it for a second, looking off into the forest, as if unsure where to start her story. "I had somehow never imagined myself sitting in a therapists' office. The room smelled like antiseptic, and there was only very generic and 'peaceful' art on the walls; geese flying over misty lakes and all that…"

* * *

Aria skimmed over several parts of her story, most likely for simple expedience. It consumed my attention though, as it sounded like some fantastical, almost whimsical, fairy tale. She let me chew it over in fair silence after she finished with her battle against Mishka, and the choice to live in the Makai.

"Do you know why Kurama wanted me to talk to you?" Aria asked, although the question was phrased in such a way that I knew she had already guessed. "He was here only a day ago, and asked me to stay so that we could meet."

I shifted uncomfortably. With Aria's life story laid at my feet it felt disrespectful to maintain my silence. "I went through the same thing you did – sort of." I nearly garbled the words in trying to speak. I marveled at Aria's ability to speak for hours on end without losing her voice, or needing to take a break.

Aria nodded, her brow furrowing slightly. She shifted the infant in her arms, adjusting the blanket. "Hold her, would you?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer and with very little ceremony, the two-day old infant was plunked into my arms.

Aria vanished through some doorway, and I was left alone with Yukiko. She was fast asleep, so I didn't need to worry about a baby suddenly howling in my face, but I didn't know what to _do_ with her. I had never held a baby before, and hadn't really imagined I would get to hold one at any point in the future.

But most surprising was Aria's willingness to leave the most precious thing in her life in my care. Without hearing more than a few words about me, she had left Yukiko. She was so _certain_ about my goodness, she hadn't a care in the world.

It brought back that tight feeling in my chest again, but without the familiar darkness to accompany it. I felt water pressed against my eyes, and clutched the infant a little tighter.

Aria returned shortly with two glasses of water. "Oh good; you're still here. Good to know I don't have to chase you down to get my baby back." She set a glass down on the porch beside me. "I don't know about you, but I needed some water."

She took Yukiko back with ease, settling the infant in her arms as though she had always held a babe. "I know conversion can be very difficult. Mine was… interesting, to say the least. But you have Kurama, right?"

I suddenly was grateful for the glass of water, finding myself quite parched. "I haven't exactly talked about it." My chest tightened at the mere thought of talking about it. Talking made it real.

"He's looking out for you all the same," Aria said with a knowing smile.

One eyebrow raised a little of its own accord. "How can you tell…?"

"He touched your shoulder, right?" she asked, and I nodded. "Well, a plant master can hide all sorts of things in plain sight." I felt her power flare, brushing angrily against my skin. For a young demon with no powers, she certainly had a lot of energy built up. It felt blisteringly hot against both my skin and senses – nothing like the calm rivers of her voice and eyes.

 _Crack!_ Something on my shoulder – the same shoulder Kurama had touched – burst open, throwing leaves and vines everywhere. Thin coils wrapped around my upper bicep, growing rapidly, spinning new arms and leaves like a windmill. From the center of the coils a fat bulb of green grew, splitting at the seams and opening in a large, red flower. It had _teeth_. The flower tilted in the wind, sniffing at the air. It turned in Aria's direction, and _hissed._

"See?" she said with a smile. "He left that on you, just in case. Paranoid fox."

She seemed so calm, and the hot waves of her energy dissipated. I, on the other hand, was on the verge of freaking out. I shook my arm, trying to dislodge it. _"Get it off!"_

"Oh, don't hurt it!" she cried. "It'll shrink soon enough."

"What if it bites me?!" My breathing was quickening, and the Song pushed angrily under my skin.

She snorted – a lot like Hiei would. "It won't bite you, silly. It's there _for_ you. Go on – touch it."

 _She's lost her_ mind, I thought. She shooed me with a free hand, urging me to comply. Slowly, I offered it a finger experimentally, putting it right in front of the flower's fangs. The flower touched it with the vines, wrapping around it briefly. The flower closed its petals, as if going to sleep.

 _Huh._

 _Weird._

I tried to ignore the somewhat constrictive plant wrapped around my upper bicep and shoulder. "So… where have you been? Kurama said you were hard to find."

Aria made a distressed face, opening her mouth a few times without speaking; seemingly hesitant to answer. "In hiding, actually."

It seemed so implausible that these people would to hide from anyone. "What happened?" I asked, leaning forward a little.

Aria smoothed the little tuft of blue hair on her infant's head. "I'm a much easier target than my husband. I don't have powers, I'm not old enough to be strong yet, and… things had very recently changed to make me more vulnerable. The only problem is Hiei is never far from me anymore. "

I looked around, and Aria laughed. "He's far enough that I have room to breathe if I want it, and protection if I need it."

Her answer was a meandering work-around to avoid answering my direct question. Her evasiveness seemed more from an abstract train of thought than an outright elusive nature. "I guess I just don't understand…" I commented, hoping to encourage a clarification.

Aria glanced up at me. "It's complicated, to be sure." Yukiko yawned slightly, and Aria beamed down at her infant as though she had just won an Olympic medal. I could practically see her wearing her heart on her sleeve – it was painful. She noticed the pained expression on my face, and offered an apologetic grimace. "Though we may do our best to hide it, in my experience demons are an incredibly emotional species. We feel emotions more keenly; fear, desire, and especially rage."

I nodded – I was quite familiar with the last part. She continued, "Oddly enough, because of this, demons aren't much for romance even though they may covet another person. As such, there aren't too many couples that would call themselves spouses. A handful of partners, lots of masters and servants, and a _whole_ lot of fuckbuddies. But a spouse…? A spouse is a _valuable_ target."

She tossed her hair slightly as a few locks threatened to fall in her face. "A demon with a spouse that they value, trust, or even _love –_ they go berserk when their spouse dies. And then, soon after, the widow or widower will die too; from the statistical inevitability that comes with a massive number of battles, or just from despair."

Aria's brow furrowed, and a muscle twitched in her jaw.. "If a powerful demon has a weak spouse it's an easy way to get picked off; because of that, many choose a solitary lifestyle."

Aria was silent for a moment, having pursed her lips. "It seems a terribly lonely way to live," I commented.

That seemed to snap her out of whatever thought had been consuming her, and she continued. "It's a matter of survival. In our case…well, things were a little farther from the norm, and we got… attached. I wouldn't give it up for anything. I would do it all again – dying in the river, the pain I suffered, having my heart cut out… I would do it all again, even knowing the heartbreak and suffering and narrow paths I had to tread." She sighed, eyes drifting down to her sleeping daughter. "Because this is… all I ever wanted. I didn't know it until I had it. It's why I put up with running, and hiding, and my crazy way of life."

"But what about the rest of us?" I asked, as my thoughts drifted back to Court. It was in utter turmoil. "You think of your conversion as some great transformative event – but what about the rest of us? I couldn't stop thinking about what was taken from me – the life I was robbed of. Aria was so happy, so full of life and light. It seemed a mockery of my pain.

Aria's expression was confused. "From what I heard, you weren't going to have much of a life left, Maggie."

The Song responded with the same fury and anger that was already boiling in my chest. "But it was still my life! _Mine!_ And there are a lot of people who didn't survive the conversion – their bodies rejected the organs, or the energy, or both, and they _died_!" Tears were streaming down my face. "Because of _you!_ " I was screaming.

Aria let me scream my heart out, her face impassive. "Do you really believe that?"

" _Yes!"_ I roared. The flower still latched on my shoulder exploded into life again, this time multiple blossoms spinning to life and hissing at Aria in chorus.

She shrugged. "Alright. How would you like to take your revenge?" She tilted her arm, exposing Yukiko's sweet sleeping face. "Would you like to kill my daughter?" Her voice was terribly cold. "Cut out her core, maybe?" She pulled down the front of her shirt, exposing her tattooed breastbone. "My core?"

" _Aria!_ " a heavy, masculine voice boomed through the air, instantly cutting through the angry energies in the air. Aria let go of the front of her shirt, and it sprang elastically back up to cover her chest. Her husband was there – having appeared in the space between seconds, sword drawn.

"Hello darlin'; did I frighten you?" Aria reached out a hand for her husband, even though he was clear across the courtyard. I blinked, and then he was right in front of her, kneeling so she could touch his cheek faintly. Something unsaid passed between them. Hiei's angry gaze flickered over me, but her hand tapping his cheek brought it back to his wife.

My fury and anger evaporated, draining from my body in an instant. The vine on my shoulder relaxed, and the blossoms shrank away again.

His level of distress seemed way out of proportion with Aria's casual expression; even though his face was impassive, a raw sort of distress was pouring off of him in waves. They stood together in that silent moment, and I had a sudden vision of fugitives taking comfort in what could only be a brief moment of peace before fleeing into the night once more.

The moment was broken when Aria released her husband's face. "Here – take your daughter," Aria commanded, tucking Yukiko into the crook of Hiei's arm. "Go have an adventure." Hiei hesitated, and though he held his daughter with surety in his stance, he was hesitant to leave his wife. She frowned at him, her lips twitching like someone who mouths words when they read. Hiei frowned deeper, and Aria's face relaxed. _What on Earth?_ I wondered, as Hiei vanished into thin air again.

Her face resembled a smile as she turned to me, but it had been crossed with a painful grimace, and near-anguish. "I can see that this has been difficult for you, and I'm sorry for any part I might have had in your pain. Now I am in the awkward position of asking for your help, instead of helping to ease that pain." The shock of her expression kept me silent – I had caught glimpse of something truly agonizing about what appeared to be a perfect life and it had left me thunderstruck.

Without me needing to ask, she launched into the story I had been waiting for all along."I hadn't been doing the survey long, and we stopped in to see King Enki – well, I did, and Hiei followed along with a scowl on his face. We were invited to dine with the Court, yadda yadda. I, uh…" Aria played with a chain around her neck, before pulling it out from under her shirt. "I threaded this seed onto a chain because I thought it was pretty, foremost, and kind of as a joke."

I recognized it instantly. "That's a _Vita corde_ seed!" I leaned back almost automatically, scrunching my nose in preparation for the ghastly odor.

She bobbed her head in a nod."More commonly known as Death's Odor, yeah. It doesn't smell at all as a seed; don't worry."

It was such a curious item to carry around, and though I was familiar with its uses and gifts it was a peculiar item of jewelry. "But… why?"

"It was a joke at my husband's expense. He's always so worried about something happening to me – he doesn't show it, but he is – so I carried it around – _"see, honey? Now we're even ready if someone tries to poison me!",_ I would say. I started wearing it regularly when we realized I was pregnant. I didn't really realize I did it – it must have been a subconscious protection measure."

She paused for a moment, fiddling with the seed. "But anyway – back to dinner at the palace. Later that evening, I learned something very valuable about this seed. We went back to our quarters, and some servant or other had left us a platter with a bottle of wine – it smelled heavenly when I opened it. I joked to Hiei that it would be hard to get him drunk, being that he could burn all the alcohol away in an instant. I was a little clumsy with my pouring, and I splashed the front of my shirt. I was upset, of course – it had soaked clean through and I didn't carry too much extra clothing with us. I forgot all about my shirt, though, when the seed started to burn."

I rocked back, shocked.

Aria nodded, still playing with the seed around her neck. "Death's Odor can do more than treat a patient after a poisoning; the seeds exhibit an exothermic reaction when they come in contact with toxins." She chuckled darkly to herself. "I had a pretty little burn for a few days."

"We didn't stay there even an hour longer. We packed up everything we had, and we fled. Out the _window_." Aria sighed, hanging her head to one side. "It was mortifying, I'm sure, for Hiei. He's a strong demon – incredibly strong. Forced to flee in the night to protect his wife."

I couldn't picture it, honestly. It was so contradictory to everything I had come to learn about this couple that was essentially demonic nobility. Hiei – first Lieutenant to Mukuro, a prideful woman in her own right – and Aria – a never-get-me-down human converted to demon after her murder by a man desperate to save her life.

Aria had continued, and I snapped my attention back to her. "We didn't even send word to our friends – we had no way to ensure they would arrive without tampering. The only person who knew we were headed north was Mukuro – and only because we stopped in Alaric for a few supplies. If Yusuke had been in Tourin I'm sure we would have gone there instead," she sighed, "it might have simplified a few things, but it simply wasn't an option at the time."

Her hands drifted to her stomach, still slightly swollen from her very recent pregnancy. "We wintered in the Teeth to prevent any collateral damage. Anything living up there couldn't possibly belong, so Hiei could blast it off the face of the mountain before it got within a mile. But without knowing what could be coming our way…" She sighed and shook her head. "We're going back to the Teeth. Hiei's sister made plans some time ago to return to the Makai, so we're going to sneak back through her portal. We won't put those we love in danger. Anywhere we might go has a host of servants and maids and countless people coming and going."

She turned slowly, and locked her eyes with mine. I shook a little under the intensity of her gaze. "Something very rotten is hiding within Makai's Court. I don't think we're the only high-ranking demons that have been targeted – this is too focused for that. I think someone is making a play to remove the governing body of the Makai." I caught a glimpse of her intellect – as sharp as any century-old demon, struck from iron and tempered in ice. Her eyes glimmered with fire that threatened to catch the world ablaze.

She realized I was trembling, and smiled to ease the tension. "This is the part where I ask you for help. I think you should be the one to investigate."

I was struck with incredulity. " _Me?!"_ I cried.

She nodded. "You're incredibly powerful, for one. More importantly, you have status in the Court now, that you gained by force. That's more significant than those that bought or inherited it. You did it in true demon fashion!" She beamed at me proudly, as if I was her own kin that accomplished such a feat.

My arms were shaking again, but for an entirely different reason. "But I don't even know what to look for, or-" my protestations were interrupted by Aria's soothing tone.

"Maggie, there is no one else. Kurama is too well-known to have ties to Spirit World to investigate without suspicion, as is Yusuke. There is no one else at Court with status that we believe we can trust utterly." She slid across the porch so she was closer to me. She laid a hand gently on my arm. "I need you to do this for more than just me and my husband. I believe the very future of the Makai is at stake."

I opened my mouth to argue, but snapped it shut at the pleading look on her face. Then I nodded.

She nodded back. "I'm going to leave Kurama a way to get in touch; when you've found what you're looking for, call us. We will come." There are certain phrases that just sound so corny, but her face meant business.

"Maggie," she cautioned, "no one can know you're doing this. It would be seen as a horrible betrayal if anyone learned you were doing this investigation for us."

Hiei snapped into existence again in front of Aria. I leaned away instinctively, and he snapped a fierce glare at me. "Hey!" Aria protested to his glaring. "She didn't do anything, so be nice. What's up?"

His heat dragged away from my face, returning to his wife. "It's time to go."

Aria blinked, surprised. "What; already? I thought we had hours still."

"You've been talking for most of the day. We're late as it is."

I had hardly noticed Yukiko sleeping in his arms – there was something vibrant and alive about just the way that he stood, commanding a space – until she yawned and started to squirm in his arms. Aria stood without question, but instead of holding out her arms for the babe, she turned her back to Hiei, unwrapping a long cloth that was crossed over her torso. Hiei wove the infant through the cloth, and I realized they were strapping Yukiko to Aria's back _._

 _They're getting ready to leave. They're leaving right now._ I lurched to my feet, suddenly desperate to talk more to her. "Aria," I murmured, "we never… we never talked about what happened." I didn't _want_ to talk, but I felt selfish for hiding my pain after she revealed hers so openly, and entrusted me with the safety of her family.

Aria checked the wrap once Yukiko was secured before turning her attention back to me. To my eternal surprise, she swept me into a fierce embrace, arms wrapped around my shoulders and tucking my head under her chin. It was so… _motherly._ I could hear Yukiko gurgling on her back was a really, really good hug. "It's ok to need other people sometimes," she whispered in my ear. She kissed my cheek gently, and patted me on the head as she released me.

"You should talk to Kurama. He's a pretty good listener when he's not doing other people's dirty work." She shot a brief, nasty look at her husband. He ignored her. "Watch your back, Maggie."

Hiei had produced a large rucksack from seemingly nowhere, and easily hoisted it onto his shoulder. He stood close to Aria's side protectively, and now I understood why. Aria turned to give me one last smile, and I waved slightly. She beamed a large smile, and it warmed me into waving a little more enthusiastically. They turned the corner around the Temple, and were gone.

"Maggie?" Kurama's voice called, seemingly far, far away.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Are you alright?" He placed a hand on my shoulder, and the hissing vine shrank into near-nothingness. Kurama collected the seed quietly.

I felt like I was living underwater, hearing everything through a murky filter that both made it hard to understand and relate to people. I lived with a pain that never went away, never diminished. It crashed against me in waves and bit into my mind as I slept.

I had foolishly dared to hope that talking to Aria might make me miraculously feel all better, and though I now knew I wasn't alone in my constant suffering, I had new burdens to bear.

I wondered if there was anyone living in the Makai who lived without suffering. I wondered what kind of pain Kurama bore in his daily life.

"No," I whispered.

* * *

A/N: Heavy stuff in this chapter, folks. We know why Aria and Hiei were so hard to find, and why Hiei was so defensive when Kurama came looking. Maggie has taken on the great burden of secretly investigating the Court of the Makai, and might just be willing to accept that she's not ok.

Many thanks to my reviewers: Nevermorea, Melissa Fairy, Guest, BlackKitsune301, SilverDragonstail, CalicoKitty402, Chibisensei110787, Taylor (Guest). Versailles214, Divine Demonic Assassin, Meliko, Miqila, halem847, theicephoenixfallenangel, Elicorn, and LunaFisto!

* * *

 **FUN FUN ANNOUNCEMENT AND YOU SHOULD READ IT:**

As a special treat for you, dear readers, I'm going to be having a Holiday Drabble Contest! What is this contest, you ask? The holidays are approaching (at the rate I write, anyway)! When you submit a review for this chapter, below it write a scene you'd love to see from anywhere in the Chronicles of Conversion (currently Pressed Between Pages and Waking Dreams), and I will write it! I will be taking the top 5-10 requests, and making a separate "story" for the Holiday Drabbles. It doesn't need to be holiday-themed or even part of the current story-lines.

I will message you to let you know if your drabble request has been selected! So **– PLEASE REVIEW**! It's your chance to read what you want!


	30. Nightmares and Flowers

To his credit, Kurama didn't press me for answers after we returned to Court. I insisted on returning earlier than planned – I simply couldn't stand to stay in the human world. Being so close, yet so far, from my old life had started to become physically painful. I had given him a very brief run-down of Lord and Lady Jaganshi's story, and he didn't appear pleased at all.

Kurama left me fairly to my own devices the day we returned, allowing me to converse with Woden about what I might have missed around Court, as well as have a similar conversation with Yasuo over his horrible tea. That stuff tasted as horrible as I remembered, but I plastered a banal smile on my face and forced it down.

I grew twitchy and suspicious of nearly everyone – as it seemed that nearly everyone had motive to poison everyone else. I had to keep a little notebook at my side, just to keep my information straight. The names and motives were piling up faster than I ever would have imagined – it was truly horrifying. I wondered often if it showed at Court how suspicious I was. I spoke a little less often, and offered fewer gifts or treaties from Alaric. Woden accompanied me everywhere, and eyed with great suspicion anyone who came too close.

Woden didn't know why I was suddenly so suspicious, and per Aria's request I hadn't shared her predicament with anyone other than Kurama, but the old demon was more astute than anyone might guess, and had simply adapted his behavior to complement mine.

That didn't rescue me from Yasuo's terrible tea, though. "Is something bothering you, my Lady?" Yasuo asked one evening while pouring his horrible tea.

I watched him drink from his cup first – from sheer suspicion – and after he didn't drop dead I took a sip. Still far too sweet. "Court is quite complicated, my friend." It was an over-generalization, but I knew it would keep further questions at bay. "I am fortunate to have you for debates, of that I am certain."

Yasuo nodded sagely. "It is indeed. You manage quite well, my Lady. Please do not hesitate to ask me for assistance with any matters, even if you feel it is of little importance."

I tightened my grip around my teacup, but soon released it for fear of shattering the porcelain. "I do not need _help_ with _any_ matters, Yasuo. We act together for the betterment of the Makai, and any fortune I gain from your assistance is purely an additional benefit. I'm sure I would manage properly without you." It seemed as though I was being overly harsh, but I knew now I was in no position to demonstrate any amount of weakness, no matter how miniscule.

Yasuo appeared to take no offense, simply dipping his head in a seated bow. "As you say, my Lady." And the matter was dropped.

I walked back along an abandoned corridor late at night – I couldn't tell you the hour. Somehow, I had managed to lose Woden in the evening. I kept glancing over my shoulder, convinced that someone was following me. I walked faster, trying to make fleeing in the dark look somewhat dignified.

A dark chuckle – thundering from some large chest – chased me in the darkness, and I stared to run. The hall stretched on forever, and someone had switched out the smooth marble flooring with rough rocks set in packed earth.

The walls bent and warped around me – there were hands reaching, hands reaching from every direction. I fought them as they tried to pull me apart, tried to cut me apart. I screamed, and the world shook around me.

The laughter was booming louder and louder around me, and it was definitely getting closer. The hall full of arms was slowing me down, pulling and cutting at me. I gulped down great gasps of air as panic seized me cold as iron.

Hands finally held me fast in the hall, and a great looming shadow cast over me.

* * *

I woke screaming, flinging the blankets off of me in a frenzy. I could still feel hands on me, and sharp things cutting at my flesh. I shuddered in my skin in a feeble attempt to shake the feeling. My nightmares were growing worse.

Any attempt at sleep was useless, so I didn't bother. Running a hot bath was a much more appealing option, and I could review my notebook while I waited for the sun to rise.

The tub filled in only a few short minutes – enough for me to get a good look at the dark shadows forming under my eyes. I slipped into the bath and scrubbed my skin raw. Spots of skin actually started to bleed from the friction alone.

I sat in the tub long after the scalding water had grown cold.

* * *

The sun rose slowly in the Makai that morning. Or maybe I had only slept for a few minutes before nightmares claimed me, I considered, and had spent nearly all of the night reading from my notes.

Either way, I was exhausted. Several nights in a row I had been deprived of anything resembling decent sleep. I needed at least three or four hours every other day, and I had maybe slept for an hour or two in the last week collectively.

I leaned heavily on the side of the yellow-orange chair, doing my best to keep my head up. I also had a bit of a chill, so a thin cloak draped over my weight was leaving my face a little warm.

"M'Lady?" Woden asked gently, leaning over the chair.

I realized my eyes had drifted shut. "I'm alright," I responded, sitting higher in the chair and blinking rapidly. It wouldn't do to fall asleep in Court.

Woden straightened, clasping large hands behind his back. "O' course, m'Lady."

I had a difficult time following Court proceedings. Most of it seemed fairly banal and beneath comment from Alaric anyway. King Enki was reasonably active that day, accepting discussion from dignitaries that rarely came to Court to ask a boon.

Perhaps it was the rotating door of pleading voices that started to set me on edge, or the deep voice of the demon who had asked Enki if his people might be granted additional representation at Court, but I had started to fidget in my seat. My spine was filled with a static electricity that no amount of fidgeting could relieve, and I drummed my fingers on the armrest like an angry bee.

Whether it was the deep voice or the sheer volume, I was in a foul mood when a timid voice rose from the back of the hall, addressing Alaric directly. It was the demoness from Harth. "The people of Harth would like to request permission from Alaric to harvest _Munera matris,_ from its woods."

The drumming of my fingers increased in speed. "Did the people of Harth not make an identical request only a few days ago?" I asked, my words clipped.

The lilac demoness nodded. "We did, and the representatives announced their intentions on both arrival and departure at the fortress, as requested."

I leaned to the side in my seat, the static in my spine buzzing in my ears. "So why does Harth need more so soon? Surely your supply cannot have run out in less than a week."

She wrung her hands timidly. " _Munera matris_ is a fickle weed, and though Alaric may not be as familiar-"

My anger rose hot in my throat. "Alaric is familiar enough. Alaric knows that Harth collects more than just _Munera matris_ when it travels over her borders, under the guise of a simple woman's weed – Harth collects _all_ of its medicinal herbs from Alaric's grounds. Do not _presume_ to know more than Alaric about the flora that covers her territories."

"Forgive me," she trembled, "but-"

" _Be silent!_ " I commanded, and the demoness shut her mouth sharply. She trembled as I roared. "For your foolishness, Harth is forbidden from entering Alaric's borders for any reason – plague, famine, war, or _act of God_!"

The panicked look on her face did nothing to quell my wrath. "My Lady _, please_ -!"

A different deep voice interrupted her pleas and my tirade that was sure to follow. "I would ask that Alaric reconsider." The hall was suddenly filled with a murmur of whispers. Enki had turned a concerned gaze on the lilac demoness who was on the verge of tears. "It is not in Alaric's nature – as has been demonstrated up to this point – to reject simple needs from those around her. In fact, we have often looked to Alaric as an example of the Makai we wish for the future; generous, patient, and unafraid of toil."

Enki shifted slightly in his chair as he directed his attention back to me, and his throne groaned slightly. "Perhaps Lady Hana requires a recess?" Enki offered.

It was his gentle tone that reminded me, however politely, that I had vastly overstepped a hidden line. My hands trembled slightly as the anger faded in a rush, leaving only adrenaline. "I think that might be for the best; please excuse me." A hundred sets of eyes followed me as I left the crowded hall, doing my best not to simply flee.

The buzzing in my ears was now just blood, rushing through my body to evenly distribute the hot shame that threatened to drown me. I didn't make it too far from Court, ripping open a set of balcony doors to lean over a railing and take a deep gulp of air. It was a little chilly, but the wind rushing past my face felt amazing on my flushed skin.

I stood at the balcony, holding my hands fiercely tight in attempt to stop the tremors. _What's wrong with me? I've never spoken like that in Court, not to anyone._ I stood there for quite some time before real life returned.

"M'Lady," Woden interrupted gently. "Lord Kurama's requested to see you." Woden had followed me out of Court, of course, but I hadn't heard or sensed him following me.

The buzzing in my skin had dulled enough for me to find my voice. "Has he?" I wasn't surprised. Even without being physically present in the room, Kurama had to have ears everywhere. My outburst would have most certainly concerned him greatly.

"Say the word, my Lady, and you will be left alone." His accent dipped away for a moment, and I looked up at him to see his face held stony seriousness. He absolutely meant every word of that statement.

I had to work quite hard to unclench my hands. "No, no it's quite alright. Lead the way."

 _I'm sure this will be unpleasant no matter how long I delay._

* * *

I was grateful to have Woden as a guide in the massive building that was Enki's palace. The halls that never ended, the doors seemingly to nowhere - seriously, there's a door that just puts you out into thin air about 500 feet off the ground – Woden kept me going straight.

I knocked lightly on Kurama's door as soon as Woden indicated we had arrived, and let myself in without waiting for a reply. Kurama's suite was a little more lavishly decorated than my sparse nightmare-room. A few plants lingered in the corners, or sunned themselves like cats in the windowsill. A small stack of paper sat neatly at his desk, and a small stack of books adorned a little shelf. It was comfortably particular.

Kurama was poring over a particularly illegible sheet of paper, and gestured behind him without looking up that I should take a seat. I made myself as comfortable as I could on a little green sofa, pulling my feet up under me.

Woden shot me a look from the still open doorway, and I nodded. _I'll be fine_ , the look said. Woden returned with a sharp nod, and shut the door with a light _click_ of the latch, leaving me alone with the fox.

Kurama read for a minute more, before scribbling something in the margins. "Thank you for your patience, Maggie." He leaned back slightly in his chair to stretch before standing. "I heard you had a little upset at Court."

He said it absently, as if I had dropped a pencil instead of screaming at a demoness. I tried to shrug it off as easily as he had. "It's nothing – I'll find her tomorrow and apologize for my outburst. I'm just so focused on this poisoning; I haven't had any time to breathe." I produced my little notebook, shaking it for emphasis. "You wouldn't believe how much I've scribbled in here – it's ridiculous." I flipped through, counting the pages briefly.

I leaned back against the sofa, snapping the notebook shut. "This is impossible," I groaned. "Literally everyone at Court is a suspect."

Kurama nodded, returning from another corner of the room with a tray. "Such is the nature of a selfish species – we all have a motive," Kurama offered me a cup of a chilled tea, and from some source of operant conditioning I plastered a smile on my face that was obviously fake. He sat slowly on the couch next to me, as if concerned that I had caught ill with a contagious disease.

"Sorry," I offered immediately, "reflex. Yasuo's tea is always terrible."

He raised an eyebrow to that. "Well I would hope you trust that I can make better tea."

I smiled over the rim of my cup. "As a plant master, I would only assume so." It indeed was a much better tea – rich berries and subtle mint.

Kurama poured himself a cup, raising an eyebrow at my comment. "Aria told you? I was wondering when you might ask."

I shrugged. "Aria, or the large plant that burst into life on my shoulder." He chuckled, and I pointed a finger at him. "Don't think we're not going to talk about the fact that you booby-trapped my body, mister!"

He smiled mischievously. "Whenever you wish, we will."

 _Uh huh._ "Anyway – I was hoping you might take a look at my notes?" I asked, offering him the notebook. He took it, his warm hand briefly brushing against mine. It made me twitch a flinch, and I dropped the notebook. Kurama caught it in the air easily, and made no comment about my twitch.

He read the pages quickly but thoroughly, and I sit in silence, sipping my tea and watching his face for some kind of response. I worried for a moment if he could read my handwriting, or if I had been unclear in my notes. How much sleep had I lost, and had that impacted my ability to form a cognitive thought?

The buzzing was coming back to my ears, and I couldn't fidget without Kurama noticing. Thankfully, I wasn't left to suffer for long. Kurama was a fast reader, and soon closed the notebook quietly.

"So?" I asked, unable to wait for him to speak.

"You are correct; it seems difficult to narrow down at this time. I do commend your notes though – you have been most observant and thorough." He offered me a comforting smile, and I felt it down to my toes. He set the notebook on his lap, tapping it with a finger. "Maggie, there is another reason I asked you here."

The warm fuzzy feeling drained away. "Oh?" I asked, my voice sounding stronger than I felt.

He locked eyes with me, and I could see frustration, affection, and confusion swirling together in his eyes. He opened his mouth once to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again, and his voice was soft. "Please tell me how I can be close to you."

My head tilted to one side like a confused puppy. "You _are_ close to me, Kurama," I replied, indicating the close distance with a hand. We were sitting right next to each other on the couch – wasn't that close enough? But even as I said it, I realized what he meant.

 _Oh._ _ **Oh.**_ _But no. He can't want that. He shouldn't want to be close to me. I'm so horribly damaged, and I can't even sleep at night without waking up screaming. There isn't a whole piece of me left to give anyone else._

" _Magnolia,_ " he urged, his voice dropping to a tenor. He had seen recognition dawn on my face, and slip swiftly into misery.

"Shu- _Kurama_ , I just… I can't do this right now." I ran my hand over my face, trying to ease away the stress wrinkles that were surely forming. Not to mention, I didn't have the heart to push him away – he was one of the best parts of my life, and I couldn't risk anything about the already strained relationship.

Did it even count as a relationship? _What_ _ **do**_ _we have?_ I wondered. I had been so instantly relieved, and then confused, when he had appeared. We still had yet to talk about what we were together.

 _No. I'm not ready to have that conversation. When we have that conversation, someone is going to get hurt._ I needed to get ready for tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after. I needed to find whoever tried to poison Aria. I needed to find the traitor at Court. I needed sleep without nightmares.

"I need to get ready for tomorrow. Thanks for the tea," my voice was curt as I stood, brushing off my pants absently. I took off for the door without looking him in the eye. I could keep doing this, right? If I avoided all relationship talks, I wouldn't lose my friend when I told him I wasn't capable of being lovable.

"Wait," Kurama caught me gently by the arm – when had he stood?

"What?" I snapped, pulling my arm forcefully from his grip – he hadn't been holding tightly, so there was really no need. His eyes looked hurt, and I saw a brief slump in his shoulders.

"Your notes, Maggie." He held out my little notebook – an olive branch.

I felt terrible for snapping.

"Thanks," I took it and left swiftly. Woden shot a brief confused look at me, and through to Kurama, as I came out of the suite far earlier than he expected, but he didn't say a word as he guided me back to my own suite.

* * *

I missed dinner entirely just sitting at my desk, staring down at the wood panel nearly concealed by a huge stack of papers. I pictured the first question of the argument I ran through in my head, but for the agony of not knowing the answer prevented me from asking for fear of what he might say. _Why do you even care?_

I couldn't come up with a satisfying answer. _Because he loves me?_ That seemed irrational – we hadn't known each other long enough to love one another. _Because he feels responsible_ , seemed more like a rational answer. _Not that he has anything to feel responsible for_ , I thought. _I went to the clinic of my own free will. He had no part in it._

A candle on my desk burnt out with a sharp _hiss_ , reminding me that I had been sitting in one spot for hours. I looked briefly out the window to confirm it was dark outside, and shrugged off the wasted day.

I changed into my typical sleep clothes – a thin tank top and shorts – before throwing on my heavy robe. It had been a gift from some dignitary or other – it was heavily embroidered with birds and flowers, and remarkably soft and warm. Mostly I wore it for the weight – it acted like a thunder shirt does for puppies.

I had been sitting at my desk all day without bothering to actually _review_ the notes I wanted to read before Court, and sighed at the prospect of reading it before bed. I pulled the heavy blankets from my bed, and made my customary nest in the corner. On a whim I grabbed an extra pillow, tucking it into the corner as a kind of headboard.

I curled up in my comfortable little pile, and opened my notebook. I yelped loudly as something fell out of the pages into my lap.

" _M'Lady?"_ came Woden's muffled voice through the thick door.

"I'm fine!" I yelled back. "Stubbed my toe!"

I set the notebook aside, and shook the blanket lightly in my lap to dislodge the object – no, _objects_ , that had fallen out. It was a little piece of parchment paper, folded in half.

And a pressed flower.

Lily of the Valley.

I opened the note with shaky hands. A sob choked its way from my throat before I could stop it, and a hand flew to my mouth.

 _ **When will I see you again?**_

* * *

A/N: Good content her, folks, and important plot development. But I'm sure everyone is just swooning over Kurama sneaking a little romantic note in Maggie's notebook. How will she respond?

Many thanks to my reviewers: chasesgirl11, Melissa Fairy, Nevermorea, Divine Demonic Assassin, versailled214, SilverDragonsTail, Taylor (guest), and LunaFisto.

Not a lot of reviews for Ch.29 – did you guys hate it?

 **PLEASE REVIEW! (Reminder – Holiday Drabble submissions are still open!)**


	31. The Way We Feel

Kurama sat straight at his desk, trying to read a treaty that Yomi was trying to defer signing. He had read the same line a number of times, and kept having to re-read it after realizing that none of it was getting through. He rolled the stem of a flower between his fingers in an attempt to occupy his thoughts, but blue eyes still haunted him.

The look in her eyes haunted and disturbed him. She would flinch, and shame would flash across her face.

A heavy knock at his door rocked him from his musings. Kurama stood with easy grace to answer the knock at his door. He snapped a rose into his hand, just in case. He opened the door halfway, concealing the side of his form that was ready for battle.

Kurama blinked in surprise, withdrawing his rose. Maggie's tall companion – Woden, if he remembered correctly – filled his entire field of view. He looked most unhappy, glowering down at Kurama. Before he could ask if something was wrong, Woden spoke.

"Evenin', milord. D'ye have the time for a late night visitor?"

Kurama blinked once, unsure of why the Maggie's guardian needed to speak to him. "Of course; please come in," Kurama beckoned, opening his chamber door the rest of the way to allow for his entrance.

Woden didn't move to enter; instead he stepped aside, revealing a very small-looking Maggie behind him. She looked desperately uncomfortable, but Kurama barely noticed. Her hair tumbled across her shoulders like raging black waves, whose blue was expressed only in the vivid nature of her eyes. She was clutching the front of her heavily embroidered robe together in front of her chest far tighter than was truly necessary.

Maggie glanced up at Woden, who had fixed a fierce glare in Kurama's direction. "An' no funny business; I don't care how strong you _think_ you are, I can still pound you to dust if I have to." Woden punctuated his threat with a twist of his eyebrows.

"I understand," Kurama nodded solemnly. Woden glanced at Maggie as she passed him; part concern, part affection.

Kurama shut the door gently. His hand lingered on the latch as he attempted to properly compose himself. "You found my note, I take it?" Kurama offered.

He glanced back at Maggie when she didn't respond. She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. She stood in the very center of his suite, clutching the robe high at her collarbone. She shifted from foot to foot, as if unsure of what to say.

They were both silent.

"Maggie-" Kurama started, but Maggie suddenly interrupted.

"Can I say something?" she blurted out loudly.

"Of course; please." Kurama deferred to the distressed woman.

She took a half step backwards, clenching and unclenching the grip on her robe. Maggie shifted from foot to foot, alternating between looking at her bare feet – _why is she barefoot –_ and glancing at Kurama's feet. "I'm… ashamed," she murmured, back to staring down at her feet. "What happened; it was utterly horrible, and I have to bear reminders of that with every waking breath. They're everywhere I look, but the worst is always waiting for me when I close my eyes."

Maggie glanced up at him, and Kurama hoped she found encouragement there. She must have, because she continued. "It was… they broke people, Kurama. _People._ They pulled people apart at the seams, and barely put them back together again. They… they pulled _me_ apart," she confessed abruptly, pressing the heels of her hands against wet eyes. "For no other reason than because they _could_ , they-" she was choking on air. "It was a _nightmare_. And no matter what I do, it just won't _stop_."

Rage blinded Kurama for a moment, swimming red into his vision. Torture for torture's sake was indescribably malicious. It can't be rationalized for a survivor, and no amount of begging or pleading or offers of gold will defer someone who simply wishes to watch you suffer.

 _Focus,_ he commanded himself. Maggie's shuddering breaths grounded him. _The past threatens to drown her with memory carved into her flesh._ Kurama covered the space between them and swept her into a tight embrace, even as she kept her hands pressed tightly against her face.

"I'm sorry you were alone." _It will never happen again; not while I draw breath._ She needed so much more than simple comforts and promises. She needed to know that she was safe in her own flesh – to be able to look at her own skin without drowning in memory."Will you give me just one minute of complete faith?" Kurama asked, pulling away from their embrace.

She nodded shortly, still shuddering a little.

Kurama gestured for her to take a seat, and she sat, hands clenched tightly in her lap. He moved slowly to stand behind her, as one moves carefully around an abused pup, and shifted the heavily embroidered robe from one shoulder.

Maggie stiffened as the sensitive scar tissue was exposed to the cool air, but gasped lightly as Kurama's head dipped over her shoulder, his hair tickling the skin, and kissed the scar as light as a feather.

He repeated his gentle kisses on her other shoulder.

He reached over for a hand clasped tightly in her lap, and with reverent care separated the two, he kissed both mangled wrists, and slid up both sleeves to kiss the hollow of each elbow.

He kept one hand captured as he walked slowly around the chair with the same care as before, and he could feel Maggie's eyes burning holes in his skin.

He released her hand as he knelt before her, and set one of her feet on his knee. He drew forward, and kissed her knee. He lifted the leg to rest her foot against his shoulder, and turned his head to kiss the side of her ankle. He repeated this with her other leg. His last kiss on the inside of her ankle lingered.

He set her foot back on the floor, rising smoothly from his kneeling position on the floor. Kurama placed a hand on either armrest, effectively pinning her in the chair. She whimpered a little, sinking down into herself. "Be calm, Magnolia," he whispered to her.

Kurama lifted one hand from an armrest, and with just on finger tugged down the center front of her tank top just a hair – enough to expose a few more inches of the Core scar. Kurama kissed scarred flesh – right over the Core.

It seemed like she was barely breathing.

Kurama didn't linger on her Core, but instead lifted his head to kiss her cheek. "I can do this every day, if need be, until all you feel when you look at this flesh is my skin against yours. And maybe," he punctuated his words with a flutter of kisses along her neck, "when you feel yourself drowning in fear, or anger, you can be rescued by my affection." Maggie was breathing again, he noticed, but far more quickly.

Kurama offered her a comforting smile. "Alright?"

"What-" she cleared her throat as a hiccup lingered at the end of her tears from moments before. "What did you want to say? Before I interrupted you, of course."

He had been expecting something a little more related to what he had just done, and was a little thrown. He tilted his head slightly, losing some of the smile in favor of a more weary look. "I was going to ask if you still wanted me."

A look of sheer horror crossed her face, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. _She doesn't¸_ doubt whispered. It took a conscious effort to leave that emotion off his face and leave one of cool indifference. _She doesn't, and that was a horribly intimate thing you just did._ "I can see that I've upset you – I apologize. Let me ask Woden to escort you back to your quarters."

" _No!_ " she cried, tears suddenly springing forth from her eyes. "I don't – I can't – _Aaauuaggh!_ " she pulled at her hair frustratedly. "I'm supposed to be _good_ with words!" she yelled at herself. Frustrated noises of all kinds spewed from her mouth, none of them actually words. She released her hair, only to chew on her thumb, aggravation carved in the furrow of her brow.

"Maggie…?" Kurama spoke softly, hoping not to startle her. She looked up, and determination dawned in her eyes.

It lit a **fire** in him.

She strode across the space between them, letting go of the front of her robe. It flared behind her, exposing the soft flesh barely concealed beneath thin sleeping garments. She grasped the sides of his face, pulling him down sharply she kissed him fiercely.

Kurama needed no further urging.

He had only briefly – oh so briefly – tasted Maggie's kiss in the last moments she was human. She had given him the most innocent peck before she headed to the Dove Center. She had tasted like the tea they had shared – mint. It seemed silly that he had gone to the literal edges of the world to find someone with whom he had shared so little intimate contact.

But in that moment – with the fire in her eyes and her lips on his – it made sense. Maggie tasted like mint and vanilla, and Kurama wondered if maybe it hadn't been the tea he tasted the first time. She held onto him with desperation born from pain and loneliness, and had he been human Kurama might have broken under her hands.

Her kisses were not clumsy or ill-practiced, and whatever ire Kurama might have felt that there was a possibility she had held a previous lover was soon washed away by the raw emotion she expressed with her skin.

Sooner than either might have liked, Maggie broke away to breathe. She tottered backwards, and Kurama pulled her closer again to brace against him. She looked up at him with gently parted lips. "Your eyes are gold," she whispered around pants for air. She blinked, a haze beginning to clear from her eyes. "And there's silver in your hair."

"My apologies," Kurama rumbled.

"Don't apologize – it's beautiful," she said it with such reverence Kurama truly believed her.

Maggie likely wasn't aware of the affects her energy had on her appearance. Like ash through fogged glass, grey dusted alone her skin, thrumming outwards from her Core. Black permeated her white sclera like ink, giving her an otherworldly, black diamond gaze. He would have commented on the treasure in her eyes if he thought for a moment she wouldn't just brush it off as nonsense. _This treasure is mine. I have her. With very little urging, I could make it permanent._

He immediately reined in the thought. _Let her choose the way the path shall take. She already chose you; the rest is insignificant._

He pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. "Don't ever leave me again."

Maggie grumbled. "I can hardly believe I'm here with you _now_ , why the hell would I _go_ anywhere?"

Kurama laughed.

* * *

There was light knocking on my door. I groaned and pulled my blanket over my head. _Maybe they'll go away if I ignore them,_ I reasoned. I was getting the first solid block of sleep I had desperately needed, and I wanted to get back to it.

In fact, I had been having a really wonderful dream. _Was it a dream?_ The memory of Kurama's lips on my arms, on my shoulders… on my lips. I flushed with heat, and buried my head under a pillow. I shouldn't have been embarrassed by mere memory, but it was… it was the most sensual thing that had ever happened to me.

The knocking at my door persisted. _"My lady!"_ a voice called from outside my door.

 _I know that voice._ I threw back my blanket instantly, flying towards the door at breakneck speed. "Nyema!" I cried, flinging the door open so roughly I think I cracked the wood.

The mouse demoness stood in the hall, hands on her hips. "Quite a thing to leave me standing in the hall, looking like a fool next to this great behemoth of a man," she cocked her head at Woden, who pretended he didn't hear.

Nyema examined my face a little more carefully, one eyebrow rising high. She took her hands from her hips and instead tucked them into her pockets. "And just who is responsible for that light in your eyes?" she asked teasingly. A deep blush rose in my face, and her eyes widened. "There _is_ someone!"

Bright red erupted across my face. I grabbed her hand, pulling her into my room and slammed the door. "Shh! What are you doing here anyway?"

"My Lady, if you think the entire palace doesn't know already you are fooling yourself." She leaned forward and sniffed at me delicately. "Especially because you reek of a claim."

I sniffed my arms. I didn't smell anything. Nyema changed the subject. "Woden sent word that you were acting strangely at Court, so I came to check up on my patient." She looked concerned, and for the first time I noticed she had a small bag of medical supplies that she was holding with her dexterous tail.

I waved my hands quickly. "I'm fine, really. I just haven't been sleeping well."

Nyema sighed deeply. "I would feel better if you let me check you over."

She started to open the medical bag, and I reached over her to snap it shut. "It's really not necessary. My hair needs more checking on than the rest of me." I ran a hand through the wild wave that tumbled to my shoulders.

Nyema eyed me seriously, her gaze calculating. I stared back, unyielding. After a full minute she shrugged. "Well, that at least I should be able to tame. Come," she beckoned. I sat on the floor, and Nyema sat on my chair, playing with my hair.

She wasted no time in delving right into my personal life. "So, tell me of this man who has laid a claim on you. Have you Mukuro's approval?"

Woden's heavy knock resounded on the door, rescuing me from answering.

"Enter," Nyema called.

Woden leaned in the barely-cracked door, his face a picture of innocence and caring. "M'Ladies, d'you need anything?"

I quirked an eyebrow – it was a question Woden never bothered to ask me – _but then again_ , I realized, _he's not looking at me._ Woden was staring over my head, and a quick tilt backwards confirmed Nyema was pointedly avoiding sharing the look, a blush of color tinting her soft mouse ears. "We are alright, thank you Woden."

He bowed a little. "M'Ladies." He exited slowly, closing the door gently behind him.

"So," I grinned up at Nyema, "that happened."

Nyema flushed darkly. "My _Lady_ ,"

"Maggie." I interrupted. "My name is Maggie."

A slow smile spread across Nyema's face. "Lady Maggie."

I rolled my eyes. "Please – you're the closest thing to a best friend I have here – maybe you can just call me Maggie?"

She contemplated that for a moment. "Only when we are alone."

"Deal," I agreed.

"Sooooo… _Woden_." I crooned with a shit-eating grin on my face. I waggled my eyebrows, and she glared at me.

"Yes, Woden." Nyema flipped my head upright somewhat forcefully. "If you stop making faces, perhaps I will tell you." She resumed braiding my hair, and it took only a few moments for her to begin the story.

"I have known Woden for… for quite some time. I knew him before he chose to be the Woden that you know now. Centuries ago the Makai and human worlds were more often intertwined, and Woden was… a different man." Her face was wistful. "Are you familiar with the human mythos of the Wild Hunt?"

I nodded. "Led by the horned god Herne, he led a great battalion of huntsmen and all kinds of beasts on a great Hunt, and all those in their path could either join them, or be hunted," I pulled the information from a relatively dusty part of my memory.

Nyema continued. "The name Herne is derived from the title _Herian,_ from the Old Norse _Einherjar_ , a title for a certain god as a leader of fallen warriors. This was Woden's title."

It dawned on me quite slowly. "Woden is a Norse God?!"

She laughed. "When he led the Hunt, he was considered a God by mortals, so I suppose so."

"'Led' – he doesn't lead the Hunt anymore?" I clarified.

"Indeed. Woden chose to forsake the Hunt, so I would say you must ask him yourself. It is not my story to tell." There was pain in her voice.

"Were you among the Hunt?" I asked softly.

She cleared her throat briefly. "No, I was not. Nor was I in their path. I met Woden when he chose to leave the Hunt – I assisted him in doing so. The Hunt faded into myth and memory without him. Perhaps it is for the better." She shook her head briefly. "Turn back around, Maggie – your hair looks ridiculous half-done."

I complied, but urged her to continue. "What made you stay together after you met?"

"Woden was a wild thing, not meant for the cage he chose for himself. I stayed, intending it to be only briefly, to help him adjust to the new life. Mukuro found us after a time and urged Woden to join her Kingdom – back when they were still Kingdoms, you see – and I followed simply because no one told me I could not."

Nyema started pulled my hair to the side of my head, and her tail held the little pieces that went astray. "Woden and I became Mukuro's Warders – creating things like the ones on your flesh. It forced her soldiers to work harder to hone their skills, resulting in a more lethal army than other Kingdoms possessed at the time. I saw Woden change from a wild creature into the kind, funny man with which you are familiar."

"And you loved him." There was no way for her to deny it – I could hear the affection in her voice. It was painted there with a lingering sadness.

She breathed her words. "Aye, I did. As a moth may love the flame, I loved him."

."Did he know? _Does_ he know?" I twisted to look at her, but she pulled my head straight just by tugging on my hair

"No, my L- Maggie," she corrected herself before I had to do it. "No. It is not for the mouse to ask a stag for its affections. I chose to spare my feelings, and leave the space at his side for a doe."

I chewed on my lip. "But how long has it been?"

She took a long breath. "It has been… quite some time."

I chewed on my thumb instead of my lip, calculating my answer. "Don't you think maybe the stag has decided a mouse might be his favored companion?"

She was silent, contemplative. "There; I'm all done," She patted my head. "Go take a look."

I scrambled off the floor and rushed to my bathroom mirror. Nyema had managed to tame the wild waves of my hair into an elegant braided crown, pulling in the most tempestuous locks with ease. "Okay, you _have_ to teach me how to do this!"

She beamed at me proudly. "Why should I give away my secrets? I will be happy to do it for you whenever you like."

* * *

A/N: the scene with Kurama and Maggie was originally written from Maggie's point of view, but I think it's incredibly wonderful this way instead. Partly because you all would be desperate to know what Kurama was thinking anyway!

Nyema and Woden's story breaks my heart, really. They've always been very _real_ to me, unlike the side-characters from Waking Dreams, who had very little to do with the plot. Nyema and Woden have very real history, dreams, desires, and fears. And – however sadly – they are crucial to the plot of PBP.

As with all trilogies, I feel I should remind you that the second is usually much darker (a la _Wrath of Khan, Empire Strikes Back)._ **Be prepared.** The only spoiler I will give you is this: **no, Maggie does not die.**

Many thanks to my reviewers: Melissa Fairy, TiaKay, Taylor(guest), Chibisensei110787, Guest, Nevermorea, Daisuke-the-Skyhaven Prince, MickeyISrawd, UzumakiRaven, halem847, SilverDragonsTail, Guest, versailles214, Lariee, LunaFisto, and jessicataylor03141989.

 **PLEASE REVIEW!(Holiday drabble submissions still open, so please submit! You don't have to have an account – Guests, that means you!)**


	32. Glass

Kurama rapped smartly on Maggie's door, and clasped hands behind his back to wait. It generally took Maggie some time to answer her door after waking – she preferred to hide evidence of sleeping on the floor. It wasn't necessary – there were plenty of demons who slept in odd positions, but Maggie seemed unique in wanting to appear "normal" by human standards. Many others simply didn't care.

The door opened more swiftly than Kurama was prepared for, but it was not a familiar form behind. His glance dropped down to a diminutive demoness – mouse, by the ears and tapering tail – who raised a thin eyebrow at his presence.

"Oh, excuse me; I must have the wrong room," Kurama apologized swiftly.

The demoness's expression changed quickly from irritation to amusement. "No, Lady Magnolia is out in the gardens getting some air. I don't believe we've had the pleasure." She bowed ever so slightly. "Nyema Bandrún."

"Kurama. The pleasure is mine," he returned the greeting with an equally shallow bow. She visibly sized him up, and Kurama bristled, offended.

Before he could comment, though, the little demoness was directing him to the gardens – as if he didn't already know where to find them. "Woden should be with her – I imagine he is easier to spot from a distance than your Lady." A less than approving grimace flashed across her face. "I might recommend, My Lord, that you be more subtle in the future. Or perhaps ask the Lady for her informed consent prior."

A sharp retort was ready on his tongue – _how dare you presume to comment on my affairs –_ but it was stifled in a smile.

A deadly smile, the demoness across from him surely recognized. "Forgive my forwardness, My Lord. Lady Magnolia is… she is precious to me. I fear for her health and happiness often." She gripped hands tightly before her, just short of wringing them fiercely. "My Lord, Lady Magnolia considers you as a precious person, and therefore I must extend you the courtesy she expects."

Nyema's gaze grew cold. "I beg My Lord give me no reason to withdraw this courtesy."

"I would never harm Magnolia," the response was a little sharper than Kurama intended.

Winter left Nyema's eyes, and only sympathy remained. "We never mean to harm those we love, My Lord."

* * *

The gardens at Enki's court were not well-known for a soothing beauty. It was a sparse space of mostly stone – hardy, and prepared for many a demon to engage in a brawl. There was some moss clinging to moist stone in the cool morning mist, and a few weeds waited for their opportunity in the sun.

Stone pillars forced walkers to meander in soothing circles – dispelling energy and anger through motion – as they crossed the gardens. A shift in the air on Kurama's left signaled the presence of Maggie's large guard; Woden. They shared a respectful nod, and Woden vanished back into the mist.

Maggie's energy was low and quiet that morning, and Kurama had to actively search for her in the large space. She was seated on a low stone bench, and she appeared to be lost in thought. The cold mist lingering in the air left a distinct air of mystery.

Someone had pulled her hair into an elegant braided crown, although her hair was already fighting against the restriction – several curls had already pulled loose at her temples. A long black skirt swirled around her legs, and a long-sleeved blue top draped precariously on her shoulders before falling into wide bell blooms.

"Good morning, Maggie." Though he loathed interrupting the scene, Kurama seized Maggie's attention.

Her head turned sharply, giving away that he had startled her, but a smile followed. "Good morning, Kurama." Her smile upon greeting him was warm – warmed him straight to his core – and bright.

"What are you doing out here alone?" Kurama asked, sitting next to her on the cold stone.

She sighed, a light puff of air disturbing the thick mist. "I like to sit in this place and be alone. I enjoy the silence." She sighed again, but it seemed more annoyed. "Not that I'm ever truly alone, and not that it's ever truly silent for me." Her admission seemed accidental, and Kurama made not comment.

The world was never truly silent for any demon that controlled other materials. For Kurama, little whispers came from all corners of the botanical world. The trees hummed and grass sang and seeds begged for light. It was a noisy world, and it had taken Kurama several centuries to learn to dampen the noise in his own head.

Maggie was still just an infant in the demonic sense, and her gift must have seemed like more of a curse. Sound itself clung to her senses; confusing and twisting perception and grating on thin nerves. He could see from the frustration that constantly lingered on her face that his guess was true.

"Would you allow me the pleasure of escorting you to Court?" Kurama asked, standing and brushing fine dirt from his trousers. Maggie's beaming smile returned and she took the arm he offered, resting her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow.

"So," she drawled, "exactly what is this claim have you laid upon me?"

To his credit, Kurama didn't miss a step. "You are able to sense it?" he asked smoothly.

She quirked a wry smile. "No; Nyema told me. Would you care to explain or should I start making wild assumptions?"

Kurama placed his free hand on Maggie's, sensing the irritation building on her skin. She was quicker to temper as a demoness, he had noticed. It had crossed his mind that it might not actually be Maggie, but the Song, as she had called it.

He rubbed his hand soothingly on hers as though trying to physically dispel her irritation. "Being a demoness of considerable stature, you are more likely to be approached with offers for status pairing." Her face instantly scrunched into one of displeasure. "From your expression, I can see that has already happened. The claim will prevent further harassment."

She nodded in understanding but seemed disappointed. "Is that the only reason you did it? Whatever 'it' was…" she muttered.

Kurama stopped abruptly, turning to face a perplexed Maggie. "I simply left a small amount of my energy to linger with your own." He reached forward to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "And no, that's not the only reason, Magnolia." A fine blush crept up her neck and into her face, swiftly darkening to scarlet. Kurama gave no indication that he noticed.

She reached up to touch her hair nervously, and her hands brushed against soft petals that had burst to life in the crown. She withdrew her hand quickly as if she feared they might bite, and shot him a dubious look. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

Kurama chuckled lightly. "I swear these are purely decorative – simple Poppies. I thought they would look lovely with your hair, and indeed they do."

Kurama but back a true laugh as her deep blush returned.

* * *

Kurama released Maggie's arm as they entered Court and she left to approach the dais with the Seats of State. "Aren't you coming up?" she asked, confusion clearly written on her face. _Oh, dear one; you must learn to conceal your emotions soon._

Kurama waved her off."Not today. Yuda returns to Gandara soon, and I will take his place then." It would present poorly if he and Maggie both sat in the Seats so soon after he lay a claim; it would seem like a conspiracy.

Maggie nodded, feigning understanding, and took her seat for Alaric. Woden appeared from seemingly nowhere to stand behind her, murmuring something low in her ear. She nodded, face growing tense.

Court filled slowly as demons and demonesses alike filtered in, shaking off the cold morning chill in favor of the fire-warmed hall. The mouse demoness – Nyema – had appeared at Enki's side bearing a small slip of parchment. He took a moment to notice the slight demoness, but she waited without comment or apparent irritation.

He read the sheet a few times over, seemingly confused, before standing to address Maggie. The rest of Court hurried to stand, unprepared for his movement.

"Lady… Magnolia? Hana no longer?" he asked, parchment still in hand

Maggie presented her best, most demure, Court smile. "That's correct, Majesty."

Enki's head tilted a little, and his brow furrowed, reading the parchment once more. "Forgive me, what is a Magnolia?"

Maggie let out a little melodic laugh. "A Human flower symbolizing dignity and nobility, Majesty."

Enki nodded, head bobbing a few more times than necessary. "We welcome you again, Lady Magnolia. Please; let us be seated and tend to the matters at hand."

* * *

Kurama soon regretted not forcing Yuda from the Seat of Gandara for the day. "Gandara has little tolerance for Tourin's propensity for isolation. Given the push for more open borders among all other nations, would it not serve better that Tourin also open her borders?" Yuda was a slimy little creature, and it irritated Kurama to no end that he spoke so often for Gandara, and often against her interests.

Hokushin was present for Tourin, and moved to instantly quash the demand. "Tourin, as run by the Steward Lord Yusuke, has chosen to remain in relative isolation. Tourin has no great resources to share, or peoples for Gandara to conquer. Tourin maintains a peaceful existence, and cannot understand why Gandara is so obsessed with hoarding her sand and waste."

 _Cheeky_.

Yuda only sneered and threw out a well-rehearsed response. "This Court knows little about what Tourin may or may not possess, as Tourin has repeatedly denied attempts for cartographers and catalogers to visit her fortresses and outlying lands. For all this Court knows, Tourin may sit upon a large aquifer, or is hiding vast stretches of greenery behind her 'sand and waste'." Hokushin was positively steaming at the accusation.

Maggie coughed sharply, and offered only a smile as Yuda glanced over at her. "Pardon the interruption, but since I have the floor anyway I might as well respond." Yuda babbled, but Maggie ignored him. "Would Gandara prefer if representatives from Alaric and the other States simply traipsed through her forests, plucking whatever deemed of value, and then wandering again from her borders? Alaric is of the opinion that some of Gandara's technologies are quite attractive, so someone will be by in a day or two to retrieve those."

Yuda shrieked in outrage, but she silenced him quickly. " _I'm not finished_ ," Maggie snapped. "Gandara's forests are quite beautiful, and well-known for their hardiness. I'm sure when Alaric has finished harvesting the wood that they will make wonderful weapons, and maybe a table or two. Perhaps Harth would like to follow us through and collect whatever plants they might lack? Or might Tourin be interested in using the wood to make refuse bins for their excess sand and waste?"

Yuda was apoplectic with outrage. "How _dare-"_

Maggie breezed right over his indignation. "Alaric is simply suggesting that since it is well-known that Gandara is supplied well enough for a State twice its size that it might consider sharing with the rest of the Makai?" she leaned a little to one side, and smiled at the fuming Lord. "Or might Gandara reconsider its demand that another State subject itself to such scrunity, as this is exactly what Gandara was suggesting should happen to another protected State."

Yuda chewed his own tongue to keep from snapping back instantly. "Gandara thanks Alaric for her _candor_ , and sincerely hopes Alaric made such comments only in jest."

Maggie coughed sharply, again, and this time it sounded vaguely like 'asshole'. How strange. Yuda glared at her. "Perhaps the Lady from Alaric requires refreshments?"

Maggie beamed at him with a light smile, knowing it would annoy and perplex him. "That would be lovely. And while we're waiting, since I have the floor anyway, I would like to respond."

Yuda looked about ready to strangle her. Kurama could only stifle his laughter in the back of his hand.

"Alaric and Gandara and Tourin _all_ would do best to be more accommodating to travelers and surveyors, but it does not behoove any to _demand_ it. This only creates seeds of dissent and resentment, where we hope to grow a community."

Yuda grumbled something akin to an agreement, and Hokushin nodded to her in thanks.

A servant soon appeared at her elbow – an unfamiliar demoness with deep violet hair – holding a steaming cup of tea. Maggie leaned to her side, accepting the teacup and shared a brief whispered conversation with the woman.

On the first sip, she grimaced –it didn't appear to be to her liking. The violet demoness asked a hushed question, and Maggie shook her head with a feigned, delicate smile. The violet demoness disappeared back into the kitchens as Court resumed. Maggie sipped the tea quickly; a frown well-plastered on her face soon after the delicate smile had faded away. She did not seem disappointed to finish it swiftly.

Kurama had to exercise considerable effort to keep from staring at Maggie as she drummed nimble fingers on her armrest. She had captured her lower lip between her teeth, and it was terribly distracting.

There was a charming contradiction in her presence – that she sat like a Makai King in the Seat of Alaric, but her expressions were utterly human – nothing had changed in her idle mannerisms since the days when she worked at the library.

She looked lost in thought, barely paying attention to the argument that had resumed next to her. That changed in an instant when something metal jangled in the back of the room, and Maggie started violently. Her casual drumming ceased instantly and she gripped the armrest so tightly the wood groaned.

In a room of heavily armed demons it wasn't unusual for the ringing of metal to rise from the silence, but this was the first time Kurama had seen Maggie so disturbed at the sound. Kurama looked over his shoulder quickly, trying to pinpoint the interruption, but saw no guilty expressions in the Hall. _Odd._ Though the idle part of his brain wanted to brush the odd event aside, Maggie's intense reaction hinted at something more.

Kurama let it linger in the back of his mind rather than dismissing it, and turned his attention back to Court. He frowned, though, when his attention caught an odd picture.

Maggie's hands were clasped loosely in her lap, and her posture could almost be described as slack. She swayed lightly in her seat to light music only she seemed to hear. The transition from an extreme startle response to such a vacant expression was concerning.

There was no subtle way to approach the Seat of Alaric with subtlety, and it would be nothing less than offense to interrupt Court proceedings to ask if a Lord or Lady was feeling well.

But Maggie did not look well. Her eyes were glassy, shoulders limp and hunched, head tilted slightly to the side. She almost appeared to be listening – to some voice at her shoulder, or an ocean far away, Kurama couldn't be certain.

There was a hum in Kurama's ears like tinnitus. He opened his mouth slightly in an attempt to relieve pressure – _built from where? I haven't moved an inch._ It had little effect, though. Kurama looked around as demons around the Hall started to squirm, many raising a hand to quietly press against the sides of mouths and heads. No others had seemed to observe the saturation of discomfort in the room yet. Only Yuda seemed unaffected – still blathering on about Gandara's precious resources and _how dare_ Alaric ask them to share.

 _She needs a recess._ Kurama could ask for one, but he would need a compelling reason.

Yuda halted in his rambling and sneered at Maggie. He seemed more confident as she had yet to interrupt and demand to speak. "Perhaps Alaric would like to respond?" he chortled haughtily.

Maggie didn't move. A grey flicker of ash was pushing against the underside of her skin. In the backs of her glassy eyes, an inky black was creeping at the corners of the sclera.

The frog-like demon only laughed. "Gandara's strength seems to have left Alaric thunderstruck!"

She swayed slightly in her seat as if lingering on the edge of sleep. _"It was a nightmare."_ Maggie's choked voice rang in Kurama's memory without his bidding.

"M'Lady?" Woden asked, lowering a hand to rest on her shoulder.

" _And no matter what I do, it just won't stop."_ Kurama's chest constricted with the pain of his sudden realization."Wait, _don't_ -!" Kurama called, leaping to his feet.

At the instant Woden's hand made contact with Maggie's shoulder he was thrown backward, up, and away in a violent blast of a discordant song. Demons cried out, hunching over instantly and covering their ears. Kurama, too, ducked behind the row in front of him as a shield.

The shockwave had punched through the upper corner of the Seat of Alaric, sending splintered yellow-orange shards flying through the air with the large demon, and raining sharp projectiles through the Gallery. Woden landed in the first row of seats in the Gallery, and the few demons who were seated there were smart enough to get out of the way swiftly.

The sharp cacophony soon faded, and the absolute silence that followed was interrupted only by a few remaining splinters falling lightly on the floor, and the occasional whimper of a demon struck by a shard.

The silence became too great to bear. It was an unprecedented event; for all the bickering and demonstrations of power, none had dared to unleash such a violent attack within the Hall of Court itself, and certainly not against their own guard.

"I believe Alaric does not wish to respond," Kurama chuckled lightly as he stood, but it hung limply in the air.

A few more moments of agonizing silence later, Woden's deep rumbling laugh punctured the tense air. He stood easily from the Gallery, brushing sharp splinters out of his skin easily. "That was quite th' commentary, m'Lords! Might we have a recess until tomorrow – so I migh' prepare for the response!"

There was a collective sigh of relief – he seemed unharmed, and his jovial response allowed others to relax, even in the face of such violence.

"I think that would be for the best," Enki agreed slowly, stepping down from the dais with some trepidation.

The gallery cleared swiftly, with many shooting concerned looks back towards the Seats of power, but Maggie didn't move. She was still sitting in her fractured chair, eyes glassily fixed on some far-off mark. It was agony for Kurama to wait until the gallery cleared, and at that point, it seemed like a façade to pretend she was fine.

There was a _thud_ of heavy wood doors as Woden closed them behind the last demon. "That's the last, m'Lord," Woden called to Kurama.

Kurama practically flew to Maggie's seat. His hands gripped the seat's arms, just a hair's breadth from Maggie's hands. The lingering buzz in the air had dissipated, and as Kurama leaned forward, he sensed no buildup of power.

"Maggie, _Maggie!"_ Kurama called her name repeatedly, finally daring to cover her hands with his own. When that didn't cause another explosion of song, he dared to reach out and touch her face.

She snapped back to the present almost instantly; jerking backward slightly as her eyes came into sharp focus on his face. "Kurama?" she whispered, words slightly slurred and confused.

Kurama knelt before her, holding onto one of her hands. To ground her or himself, he wasn't certain. "Maggie, do you know where you are?" he asked gently.

Maggie's eyes searched his face, and a deep furrow formed on her brow. "I… I was… something touched me...and…" She scrunched up her face, trying to remember. Her head shot up a few moments later, shock and dismay written clearly on her face.

She was looking over Kurama's shoulder at her companion as he came to check on them. " _Woden!_ " the cry ripped from her mouth with a pained anguish. She flew to her companion, arms outstretched to touch his bruising face. The giant hunched slightly to allow her, even as he reached to cover her hands with his own.

"It'll be gone by mornin', m'Lady," his deep baritone did little to soothe her.

She was trembling in earnest as she searched his face for pain. "Woden, that's not me, I'm not – I didn't-"

"Magnolia, I'm not entirely sure you were conscious," Kurama interrupted his tone soothing but his voice deep. Woden took great care in peeling Maggie from his face, returning him to the fox's care. As much as the giant was worried about his charge, he knew better of a claim.

Kurama returned Maggie to sitting in the ruined Seat, even as she fretted and reached to comfort her companion. "Have you eaten today?" Kurama asked, turning her face gently so he could examine her. The inky blackness had receded from her eyes, and there was no lingering of the ash coloration in her skin.

She shook her head. "Just some tea."

"What tea? Did you recognize the flavor?" Kurama insisted.

She shrugged. "No – it's too sweet. It's always too sweet."

Kurama's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'always'?"

Maggie's voice was strangled with confusion and frustration. "It's just a weird tea, Kurama, I don't know! What does it matter?!" she snapped, running a hand through her hair, pulling at the ends.

Kurama patted her hand soothingly. "Nothing, I'm sorry, Maggie."

Her body shuddered involuntarily, and she wrung her hands in her lap as she stared openly and guiltily at Woden's face. He offered her his most comforting smile, but that seemed to do little to ease her worries.

* * *

Kurama shut the door to Maggie's quarters slowly and quietly. It had taken a great deal of convincing for her to agree to be sedated, and no small amount of assistance from Woden. Kurama wasn't proud to admit it, but persuasion and guilt had also played a large role. Nyema had returned almost instantly as word had spread of Maggie's explosion at Court, and was monitoring Maggie's sedated sleep like a hawk. The furious disappointment had been evident in her eyes as Kurama left Maggie in her care.

Woden was waiting in the hall, arms crossed over his chest. Half of his face had settled into a deeply muddled bruise and it only added to his fierce visage. It was nothing compared to the violence sitting just beneath the surface of Kurama's skin. The calm had left him, and his eyes blazed with emerald fire.

"Is he here?" Kurama asked sharply.

"Next room," Woden nodded to the door.

Kurama gripped the latch in one shaking hand and paused. _Rage does little good here. Control yourself._ He willed stillness into his hands, straightened his shoulders, and entered the study.

Yasuo stood immediately from his seat at the small table at the center of the room, straightening wrinkles that didn't exist in his shirt. His golden form seemed so out of place in the dour, dark room. He seemed to glow with an internal light that was caught in a glimmer of the books on the shelves around the room.

"You asked for me, My Lord? How fares the Lady?" He seemed genuinely concerned, and a different feeling snarled in Kurama's chest.

Kurama stamped down his base instincts and gestured for Yasuo to sit again. "She is well, but that is not why I called for you."

Yasuo sat as commanded. "Of course, My Lord. How may I serve you?"

"Where are you from, Yasuo?" Kurama took the seat across from Yasuo, steepling his hands on the table.

Yasuo breezed past the question with practiced ease. "I come from one of the smaller unaligned States, My Lord. It is of little importance."

Kurama lifted his chin slightly – a small display of dominance. "I disagree – it is of great importance. You seem to have intimate knowledge of all States and Nations and nomadic tribes, but I heard little about you before these last few months."

Yasuo tucked his chin down slightly – a small submissive display. "I have been greatly assisted by Lady Magnolia, and have been proud to assist her myself."

The room was silent as the two men shared an even stare. Yasuo appeared submissive and compliant to Kurama's domineering position. He appeared to be no threat to Kurama's claim. Kurama set a long length of chain on the table. It had been the cause of the noise in the Gallery, though none had returned to claim it. "What do you know of this?"

Yasuo drew it closer, the steel rattling harshly. "It appears to be chain – forged in Harth, from the designs."

"What do you know of Harth?" Kurama pressed.

Yasuo leaned back in his chair slightly with a sympathetic sigh. "Their soils are poor and their people poorer. However, the demonesses from that region are prized for a subtle beauty, and their knowledge of herbs and tinctures. They have lived a somewhat challenged existence, and have only just begun to be acknowledged at Court. Lady Ha- Lady Magnolia's upset at Court may have set them back some, but nothing too great." Yasuo's eyes sparked with a memory. "The demoness who served Maggie's tea today was from Harth, if it matters."

Kurama unlaced his hands, placing them flat on the table as he leaned forward. "What do you know of her?"

Yasuo blinked in surprise at his sudden interest. "Her name is Sensaina; she is well respected as a handmaiden. She provides my personal evening tea, as well as Lady Maggie's when she chooses to grace me with her presence. I believe she is called upon to serve visiting Lords and noble houses when they visit the Palace, as she is known for outstanding discretion."

Kurama measured his next question carefully. "Would she have served the Lord and Lady Jaganshi on their last visit?"

Yasuo tilted his head slightly, considering. "It has been some time since their last visit, My Lord, but I have little doubt that would have been the case. "

* * *

A/N: You all thought you knew what was going on – **HA!** As if I would ever let something be so straightforward as that. Had you all going, though, didn't I?

I apologize for being absent for so long. For one – the end of the year is very busy for my company, and on top of all of that I'm deep in the throes of wedding planning (I'm getting married in February, and don't have the money for a professional coordinator, so I'm doing it all myself). I appreciate everyone's patience while I try to carve out time to write. On top of all the actual delays, this chapter was a _beast_ to write – it went through several significant re-writes.

I do feel bad that Maggie's life flip-slops so much between tiny points of light and abject suffering. I really did want to just make her life good for a while… but that's not her life. Not everyone gets a good or easy life.

Many thanks to my reviewers: Guest, Lariee, Nevermorea, Caralirani, Chibisensei110787, Kuesuno, MickeyISrawd, SilverDragonsTail, LunaFisto, Miqila, Taylor, cersailles214, Guest, Melissa Fairy, UzumakiRaven, halem847, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, rezgurnk, TrisanaLove, Reclun, and DoppleGengar!

Holiday drabble IS coming, but it will probably be after the holidays. **SO KEEP SUBMITTING STUFF!**

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	33. The Wild Hunt

I woke slowly, with something like trepidation. My body seemed to remember what had happened before my memory supplied it, and was trying to keep me in the peaceful realm of sleep for just a little longer.

I blinked, recognizing my ceiling, and turning saw Nyema rising from a chair across the room. "How are you feeling, Maggie?" she asked, helping me to sit up. I didn't resist the assistance, thought it was unnecessary.

I let her check my eyes and pulse to her heart's content, waiting until she seemed satisfied to speak. "Be honest – how much damage did I do?" My voice sounded cold, as though I had knocked over a vase, and not blown up a room.

Nyema dismissed the question breezily. "The chair was easily repaired."

My expression soured. "That's not what I meant."

She sighed. "I know." She leaned lightly on the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Recovery from traumatic experiences is not a straight path, Maggie."

I dragged a hand over my face, rubbing at my eyes. "I know that – consciously, I mean." But that didn't keep me from also knowing how many people I had hurt on that path.

I sighed deeply and flopped backward. "Do you know what I did before? I was a person who knew things, and knew where to find information when I didn't know." Nyema hummed thoughtfully, but didn't say anything; it was her way of encouraging me to continue. "I'm supposed to be finding something here, but every time… every time I lose my way."

I slid from the bed, grabbing my heavily-embroidered dressing gown from where it had been unceremoniously dumped on the floor some night before. "They were wrong to give this to me. I'm so turned around I don't know which way is North, and I don't know how to find my way back."

I raked a hand through my knotted curls, tugging a little in frustration. I've lost my way time and time again. I don't even sound like myself when I speak at Court – I'm playing a part and doing so poorly. I thought I could do this, and I'm constantly fighting with the fear that I _can't_ do this."

My hands dropped to my sides, and I hung my head, whispering. "I'm not okay, and I have to learn to be okay with that."

I laughed darkly. "I wish I could go away to the wilderness, have some revelatory experience, and emerge a new, brighter person. I want that fantasy princess's transformation, and the happily ever after." I shook my head at my own foolishness. "Instead, I get to use all of my energy just waking up in the morning, and facing the decisions from the previous day. Here I am; _alive_."

Nyema clasped her small hand lightly around mine. "These fears are all valid, Maggie. And it is alright not to be healed; some things never heal. You may walk with this creature of memory haunting you for the rest of your life. My only suggestion to aid in your recovery is that you _stop feeding it_." She smiled, nodding in encouragement. "Now come, there's some breakfast at the table for you. We should tuck in before Woden returns, lest he swallows the plate whole!"

I laughed, trying to shake the dark feelings. I allowed Nyema to guide me to the table and heap our plates with food. For someone so small she certainly could put it away. She made jokes between shoving food in her mouth as a way to distract me, and I poked fun at her in return.

"I might suggest taking your own advice," I teased, "and tell Woden how you feel before the two of you both turn to stone with age!"

Her mouse ears flushed a deep scarlet, and her tail curled under her chair. "I think I liked you better unconscious…" to which I could only respond with a hearty laugh.

* * *

Kurama spun the stem of a crushed poppy between his fingers. Nyema had removed them from Maggie's hair when she had unbraided the crown. They had looked lovely. _She_ had been lovely. He was unsure if the rotten luck stemmed from his side or Maggie's, but every time they seemed to be moving forward something awful occurred, and Maggie would retreat.

Not that he could blame her – both her human life and new demon future were rocky at best, with stumbling block after obstacle after sheer brick wall placing ever-more demanding challenges in her path. She was keeping her head above water by sheer determination alone, and that was admirable.

A series of heavy knocks jerked his attention to the door, and he dropped the poppy on his desk. He all but rushed to the door, sensing Maggie's guard on the other side.

Woden filled the frame of the door, and his smiling face sent relief surging through Kurama's chest. "M'Lord, you asked me to tell you when the Lady woke."

"How is she?" he asked, instantly stepping out into the hall and urging the taller demon to return to Maggie's quarters.

The tall demon complied, leading the way. "Shook, m'Lord, but her head is clearer."

They hadn't made it far down the hall when they were greeted by an unpleasantly familiar face approaching from the opposite direction; Yuda. "Ah Kurama, what a … surprise." The short frog demon was walking down the same hall, hands clasped behind his back. "Such a shame about the girl. Human temperaments are so difficult to reign in, aren't they?" His eyes glinted wickedly.

Kurama had little patience for the little demon at that particular moment. "I'm sure you will join me in wishing her speedy return to Court, Yuda. All involved benefit from a well-represented populace."

Yuda coughed, but it sounded more like he wanted to heave at the very thought. "I have no love for Alaric, let alone a _convert_."

" _Watch your words_ ," Kurama hissed with sharp venom. "She was a chosen representative for Alaric as worthy as when Yomi chose you."

Yuda recoiled, offended. "I come from an _ancient_ and _noble_ line that has served Gandara for generations! How _dare_ you suggest that _thing_ andI are equal!?" He snorted derisively. "Her emotions, for one, are simply an unpredictable hazard."

"And what would you know of that, Lord Yuda?" Kurama's voice was saccharine sweet.

Yuda started sweating. "Er-" His response was interrupted as a demoness rounded the corner, and stopped sharply upon seeing the gathering of demons. The teapot in her grasp sloshed loudly.

Woden offered her a gentle smile. "Hello there, we don' bite."

She bowed deeply, holding the teapot in front of her so as to avoid spilling. "Forgive the intrusion." Kurama's eyes widened a fraction and then narrowed almost imperceptibly. It was the same demoness from Harth that had served Maggie tea at court – Sensaina, if his memory was correct.

Yuda waved her over with a casual hand, not bothering to look directly at her. "I _was_ going to enjoy a fine spot of tea in my private quarters, but during this absurd conversation I'm afraid I've lost the desire."

Woden snorted. "Best not let it go t'waste," and seized the whole pot from the lavender-haired demon's hands, downing it in one go. Yuda's eyes widened as steam poured out Woden's mouth with a satisfied sigh.

Sensaina took the teapot back from the demon with a comically shocked expression. She completely forgot to bow before turning away, just turning her stare back and forth from Woden to the empty teapot. Without a word, she turned the corner to return to the kitchens, Kurama assumed.

"Now if you'll ex _cuse_ me," Yuda interrupted the gears turning in Kurama's head, "I'm sure we _all_ have better places to be, mmm?" No one stopped him leaving - and who would want to?

Kurama made an odd face as he turned to Woden. "Wasn't that hot?" he asked under his breath.

Woden chuckled deeply. "Aye, extremely," he replied, "but I'm not going to give that sot the satisfaction." He patted his chest with a fist like someone with aggressive heartburn. "Oof – does burn a touch."

Kurama smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm afraid I need to make a brief detour."

The taller demon nodded. "Had the same thought, m'Lord. You remember how t' find the kitchens?" Woden asked.

"Yes – are you needed elsewhere?"

Woden sighed like a tired parent. "I don' like leaving the Lady all by her lonesome for long. Nyema is fierce but still little." He tucked his head a little, conspiratorially. "Don' tell her I said that. She'd have my head."

Kurama chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me."

* * *

Breakfast lasted longer than it should have, and as time dragged on and the remainder of the food grew cold, Nyema glances at the door grew more frequent and nervous as she waited for the heavy knock that signaled Woden's return.

I had been trying to distract her when a tremor in the air ran right through me. I shuddered a little. "Did you feel that?" I asked, rubbing a hand along my arm to dispel the tingling sensation that lingered.

One glance told me she had. Nyema was standing, her tail twitching nervously.

"Did you _sense_ that?" Nyema clutched at her chest and the breath seemed to run out of her. "When did we last see Woden?" she whispered almost inaudibly.

Her deep reaction concerned me. "I thought he was coming right back with Kurama. Why – what do you sense?"

She was trembling now. "Something is wrong… something is horribly wrong." She grabbed a knife from the table – honestly the only weapon in the room – and dashed for the door, flinging it open so hard that it cracked into the wall.

" _Hey!_ " I cried, but she ignored me. I pursued – in pajamas and a dressing gown – down the hall as she moved at breakneck speed. I don't know how she knew where she was going, but she turned at every corner as though following a glowing arrow ahead of her. "What's going- _oof!"_ she had stopped so suddenly I actually ran into her. For a small mouse demon, I wasn't expecting it to feel like I had run into a stone statue.

She was frozen in place, eyes wide and fixed on a familiar, hunched figure at the other end. "Woden?" I called quietly. "Are you alright?" My friend was hunched in the hall, one hand clenched tightly at the shirt over his chest, and one clenched _into_ the marble at his feet.

I moved to go around Nyema, but she seized my arm and held me back. Before I could ask why she had stopped me, Woden's head whipped around at the sound of my voice, and I knew something was horribly wrong.

His eyes were glowing a piercing white, casting away the shadows on his face. The hand in his shirt twitched, and pulled the fabric away with a rending tear like it was nothing more than tissue paper and not the thick canvas he always wore.

Nyema sucked her breath in a sharp gasp as she saw it, and I took a step back.

I had never known Woden was warded. It was massive; a great spiraling mandala of ink. It made my little spirals seem positively mundane – this was a true Warding, capital W; a cage made of flesh and ink. I couldn't count the number of designs, or divine their intent – this was far, far beyond my understanding. But I did know one thing; I knew it should be black, and the ink should have been absorbing just a little too much light.

Woden's ward was glowing an angry shimmering red – pulsating as his energy flexed against it. He locked that white-hot glare on the both of us again and _roared_. There was an audible _**crack!**_ in the air as the ward shattered.

" _Run!"_ Nyema cried.

* * *

A/N: Hello everyone! **Sorry sorry, sorry (!) for the long radio silence** – this chapter has gone through at least a dozen re-writes, partially from uncertainty, and partly from plot changes. I've been giving a lot of attention to Weaver's Hands because the telling of that story is in such a different format.

I've also been focusing a lot on my wedding on Valentine's Day. Which is in like… 4 days. SO NO STRESS AT ALL NOPE NOPE NOPE

Maggie and Yuda fight a lot at Court. Didn't anyone notice? Hm.

Many, many thanks to my reviewers, I read every one : skullchildforever, Nevermorea, resgurnk, DoppleGengar, jinxedpixie, Taylor(guest), Sora Tsuiki, halem847, UzumakiRaven, Reclun, versailles214, and SilverDragonsTail!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	34. Wistman's Wood

**WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

* * *

 _ **A few minutes earlier…**_

It wasn't so much memory as scent that led Kurama to the Palace's grand but somewhat cramped kitchens. The space was massive – as was required to serve Enki's large appetite – but every clear surface had been filled with food is some stage of preparation.

Trays upon trays of bread dough ready to be pushed into the towering wood oven, whose wide maw threatened to breathe fire at any moment. Soot had changed the earthy tan of the clay into a deep black above the opening, and the most delicious smells poured into the room. Crate upon barrel upon pallet of fresh fruits lingered in every corner, though the apparent lack of mold implied they did not stay long. Whole carcasses were split and portioned with practiced ease by a handful of dedicated butchers, and few parts went discarded without purpose.

Kurama found it difficult to move through the flurry of activity without instant recognition from the staff. Large portions of the crowd instantly ceased their daily duties to bow or curtsy. "How may I assist you, my Lord?" inquired a brave servant.

"I'm looking for a Harth demoness named Sensaina."

The servant glanced over the room briefly, standing on her toes to peer over some of the trays stacked high in the middle of the room. "There, M'Lord – in the back to your right."

"Thank you."

Having heard her name from across the room, the demoness was already visibly anxious when Kurama approached her small corner of the kitchens.

Herbs were hung from the ceiling over a high table that was mostly occupied with a mortar and pestle large enough to grind a human skull into a fine powder. Shelves on the opposite wall were lined with jars filled with herbs in various stages of preparation for tea and tincture.

"You are Sensaina." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, my Lord."

Kurama cut to the chase. "A peculiar reaction has been induced repeatedly in a demon; I suspect using tea, which leaves the drinker incapacitated by fear and highly reactive to stimuli."

"My Lord, I am responsible for preparing and serving, yes; I would not dare lie to you. But as you can see, I lack the ingredients necessary to produce the reaction you are describing."

He _could_ see that. Insomnia, cough, and upset stomach were the most she was capable of both treating or inducing with those herbs. His eyes narrowed. "You prepare _all_ teas? At _all times?_ "

She fiddled with the bottom of her apron. "Lord Yasuo has a personal servant who prepares tea at his request. For himself, and for others."

"When was she last in the Palace?"

"She was here just this morning, m'Lord. Lady Magnolia's guardian drank the tea she prepared – _the whole pot!"_

Kurama's mind was racing, creating one awful scenario after another faster than he could blink. "This personal servant, who is she; what is her name, is she here?"

Sensaina shook her head as she wracked her brain. "She does not work here usually, My Lord. She has white hair, but eyes like anyone from Harth – lavender. Her name is… Mishka, I think, my Lord."

Kurama's vaguely threatening posture instantly snapped into outright hostility. " _You lie._ " Mishka was locked away in the depths of Spirit World prison; there was no world in which she could be making _tea_ in the Palace.

Sensaina whimpered and pressed herself firmly against the back wall, trying to put a few more inches of space between herself and the angry Kurama. "My Lord, please-"

A scream came from the kitchens as a handmaid staggered into the room, an arrow shot clean through the joint of her shoulder, and her leg dripping with blood. The scream was followed by dozens more as thick blue fog rolled down the hall. He could hear the faint cry of a hunting dog.

* * *

" _Run!_ " Nyema cried, pulling on my hand.

I was fixed to the ground as a combination of horror and fascination coursed through me.

Rich brown ran through Woden's hair and the wrinkles smoothed from his face. He clutched his head between tight fingers as two points of bone poked through thin flesh; sprouting out as a tree through stone. They branched and spread, becoming two ten-point antlers crowning the wild demon. His face relaxed into ecstasy, the fierce glowing white flickering on and off as he blinked.

He sighed deeply, breathing out a hazy blue mist like heavy cigar smoke. What started as a small cloud billowed and grew, doubling in size every half-second. It curled and swirled unnaturally; more serpentine than smoke should behave. It thinned a little as it grew, fogging the hall in a heavy, eerie light. But no matter how it grew, I could still see those piercing white glowing eyes watching me.

"Maggie, _run!_ " Nyema clasped my hand tightly, pulling me down the hall.

"What… what…" I couldn't find the words.

The piercing white lights of Woden's eyes seemed to go double, and Maggie blinked, rubbing at her eyes. She wasn't mistaken – as the smoke had doubled and grown, so were the odd white lights. They split and multiplied, hanging in the mist like so many fairy lights.

"Before it fully gathers _– come_!" She finally spurred me into motion, pulling on my arm so fiercely I thought it would pull from its socket.

There was a ghostly howl in the hall behind us. Fairy lights danced in the shadows, and I could see a glowing hound appear from the shadows. Then another. A huntsman stepped into being from nothing, as if emerging from memory itself. He glowed faintly, as the hounds did, and I could see completely through his body. He gripped a bow, and pulling back on the string produced an arrow from the ether. As it zipped past us I had no question of its lethality. A howling cry grew from the collection, so near, but sounded deceptively far.

We rounded a corner, and another, before Nyema dashed into a small side room and slammed the door.

"It's… it's…" words failed me, and I was struggling to catch my breath. Shock was clutching at my lungs making it hard to breathe. The realization of what Woden had surrendered when he met Nyema so long ago was starting to dawn. My memory conjured a feeling of Nyema braiding my hair and a conversation not long past. _"I met Woden when he chose to leave the Hunt – I assisted him in doing so. The Hunt faded into myth and memory without him. Perhaps it is for the better."_

"Aye," Nyema confirmed, "the Wild Hunt."

Woden hadn't just been a _part_ of the Wild Hunt.

 **Woden** _ **was**_ **the Wild Hunt.**

The faint howling was drawing near again, and as surely as a T-rex in the side mirror _may be closer than they appear_ , I knew that meant the Hunt was not far. An expression of pained resolution flickered through Nyema's eyes and she gripped my hands fiercely. "Maggie, we'll meet again someday." She kissed me on the cheek, and the intimacy startled me. "What-?" She darted through the door, slamming it shut behind her before I could as much as stand. I heard the swift song of a knife as I stood to follow.

A mere hairs-breadth before I touched the knob a sharp pain coursed through my skin, burning my flesh with a flash of fire. I snapped my hand back and clutched it to my chest reflexively at the shock.

She had warded the door shut to keep me inside.

The howling was much closer now – practically just outside the door – but it sounded more confrontational; it was mixed with snarls and snapping of jaws, and I could hear the tell-tale _twang_ of a bow.

" _Nyema!_ " I cried. Feeling the Song rise to comfort my growing panic, I punched through the wall with a blast of discordant noise. I leapt through the new door and into another world.

The Hunt had completely consumed the hall. Through the hazy blue mist curling in the air I felt I could see branches overhead, and thick tree trunks faintly outlined in the distance. I was almost swimming through the air in this alien world, the fog was so thick. I could hear the _padda-padda-padda_ of heavy animal paws in the dirt, and a _crunch-tch_ of soft-walking feet in fallen leaves. I could hear these things, and still look down and see the cool sheen of the hall's marble floors at my own feet. Eerie, at best.

I stumbled over tree roots and around ghostly branches that swatted at my face as I fumbled through the mist, and a thick, wet smell of old moss confused my senses. I followed the heavy _twang_ of bowstrings and snarling of hounds to find my friend locked in heated battle with the Horned God himself.

Nyema flew through the air with an agility I had never known her to possess, propelling her body from walls, floors, and ghostly figure alike. Warding tattoo ink dripped from her right arm and splashed on the floor as she flitted from one place to another. _Wait,_ I realized as an arrow clipped her side _, that's not ink._ It was her blood that was black – pure, and deep. I could see from the marks on the floor that it absorbed the light unnaturally around it, pulling in more than its share. The few remaining ward marks on my arms tingled in recognition.

She cried out as ghostly arrows pierced her back and hounds snapped at her feet and legs, but she never faltered. I could see her rebuilding the mandala on Woden's chest; with each lunge, a new spray of blood recreated the symbols needed to contain his power.

I didn't know what to do – fear and confusion had frozen me in place, stranding me between wanting to help and wanting to run _for_ help. My hands trembled as I struggled to make a decision, _any_ decision.

* * *

Kurama contemplated several complicated and colorful curses as he almost – _almost -_ tripped on another taproot. It had come up from nowhere, he was certain.

The ghostly plants didn't respond to Kurama's energy – not being true plants, of course. While the energy around Kurama certainly appeared to be plant life, the smells lacked the informational richness and instead opted for overwhelming scents. The branches caught and snagged at skin and clothing, but failed to bend or yield like proper organic life.

Kurama slid over rocks that he was certain weren't underfoot the moment before he stepped. _An extended aura, meant to confuse and disorient prey._ It was simply something to be survived until he reached the source. It didn't behave properly – more like a Spirit Energy Territory than any demonic aura with which he was familiar.

He was heading deeper into the mist – more rocks, more branches snagging at his tunic – as he made his way back to Maggie. _Please, please still be there._ It was impossible to feel for energies in the strange fog – it pressed against the senses like honey; clinging and obscuring all subtleties. Kurama was left to search the old-fashioned way, but knowing Maggie's poor fortune…

But he had to check; he had to know. There was no use whatsoever in starting to search without knowing first that she was actually _in_ danger. Emotion was beating against the walls of logic, screaming in his mind that _of course she's in danger_ , and he was wasting precious time.

The howling of hunting dogs was growing louder, and Kurama realized with horrifying certainty that the epicenter of the strange fog and his original destination were, in fact, quite close together after all.

* * *

Throughout the time filled by my indecision, Nyema worked swiftly to rebuild the warding mandala while dodging every assault to the best of her ability. She was slowing – from exhaustion or pain I was never sure – and her luck ran out.

An arrow caught her through the knee and she fell short in a leap. I gasped as she fell heavily, and her eyes caught mine instantly. I should have stayed silent – I _should_ _have_ done so many things, but above all I should not have held her attention for that one second.

Woden grabbed her around the neck and torso and left arm like a little doll – his fist wrapped around her upper torso and squeezed with a cobra's strength as he lifted her. A horrible, wet, sickening crunch filled the air as Woden tightened his grip, and crushed my friend. Her head jerked back and her right arm flailed once – only once – like a landed fish.

She wheezed as air was forced from her chest and a fountain of black blood poured from her mouth. " _ **Inga träd växer till himmelen**_ _,"_ Woden chuckled merrily as though this was a game with a small child, bringing her face close to his so he could witness her suffering better. More blue smoke drifted from his mouth as he spoke, making his face a little hazy.

Nyema's body went mostly slack, but with the last vestiges of her strength – drawn from where I do not know – she reached forward with her free arm and completed the last stripe of the mandala ward in a trembling slash.

The effect was immediate.

The Horned God howled in agony, dropping Nyema's limp body as the ward on his chest began to sizzle. The mandala glowed bright green – green like deep places, then green like summer fields, then spring shoots, lover's eyes, brighter and brighter as his cries grew in intensity.

Woden clutched at his head, fingers laced around the bases of the heavy bone crown. White ran through Woden's beard and hair, and the wild glow released his kind eyes. His antlers cracked at the base, crumbling into dust that was swept away in the breeze. It took only a breath in time, but it aged him back to the old guardian I thought I had come to know.

The heady blue mist evaporated quickly, taking with it the Wistman's Woods that had haunted my steps. There were no more hounds. No more archers. No more steps in the darkness and branches to catch on exposed flesh.

I released a breath I didn't know I had been holding as Woden took his first. He blinked once, twice, staring at his hands. They were stained black with Nyema's dark, powerful blood.

He heaved in a great breath – shuddering, disbelieving – his eyes were wide and desperate as they fell to the floor, to Nyema on the floor.

He collapsed, falling to his knees before her. His blood-soaked hands trembled as he reached for her, begging her to move.

Woden held her tiny, broken body in massive hands, trying to both hold her closer and not touch her body at the same time. His keening cry was wordless – anguish and despair in purest form.

* * *

A/N: this chapter did take longer than expected to write. I wanted to do it _right_ , as it sets off basically the rest of the story. This is a defining action for what comes after, and although I know the story may have seemed stagnant recently I promise there has been some significant content in chapters past. There will be a lull in the storm coming either next chapter or the one after that'll have some good fluffy stuff - because I KNOW I KNOW you guys have been asking for some fluff.

I really wanted to do this chapter justice, as I have been known in the past for just throwing character deaths around like candy. Also – Woden's power (and Nyema's, that we didn't really learn until this chapter) is so amazing and terrifying all at once; it needed this dedicated chapter. I'm trying a more involved writing style, and this was sort of a test-run.

We will be seeing the return of Hiei and Aria (for those who wanted them involved – enjoy!), as well as Mukuro.

HEY- if you were one of those asking about photos from my wedding (huzzah, marriage!), my photographer posted some pictures: EBranchesPhotography/ and mine is "Alex and Diana's EARLY morning Valentine's Day wedding".

Many thanks to my reviewers: LadyAmazon, Miqila, Melissa Fairy, The Otaku Lady Priya, DarkWolf1689, typiicaltaylor, BlackKitsune301, versailles214, halem847, FireDancerNix, Ground-Cinnamon, jinxedpixie, Lariee, and PrinceMaoyan!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	35. On Hiatus

p class="MsoNormal"Hey everyone – sorry, no chapter update. This is just a hiatus notice for PBP. It will be completed – promise! This story is being paused only because we've reached what will also be a crucial plot point for Weaver's Hands (Part 3 of this whole shenanigan), and I really can't write much more without ruining the fun bits for WH. I hope you all will forgive the torture of leaving you on such a terrible cliffhanger./p  
p class="MsoNormal"However – this does NOT mean that all writing has ceased! I will be focusing on getting Weaver's Hands to the point it needs to be for PBP to continue as soon as possible!/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Thank you all for your understanding./p  
p class="MsoNormal" /p 


	36. A Death in the Family

Demons don't wear black to funerals. They also don't do 'funerals'; it's more like a good Irish wake – lots of drinking, turning into bad singing and the occasional fistfight. I didn't stay long at the little grave marker. Nyema had lots of old friends that came to say goodbye, and I felt very alone even with Kurama at my side.

I felt as if I had lost a parent – although this was more painful than when my mother died. I was too large for the world around me without his massive form following me. I needed his comfort, or Nyema's.

I was too angry to grieve properly. I spent most of my time in the deep prison cells, glaring at a hulking figure that wouldn't meet my gaze. I didn't say anything, and neither did he.

I stood several strides away from the barrier, more for his safety than my own. Its haunting red glow felt more like a movie set than real life. I fiddled with my new pendant – it felt disproportionately heavy for its actual weight. I stood alone now – Kurama was as angry, if not more so, as I was. He had made no promises for Woden's safety should he come with me.

Behind the barrier, seated on the lone bench of concrete that served as bed and seat, Woden's head hung low. His gaze was centered somewhere between his hands, but unfocused.

"Why?" I croaked, my voice hoarse. It took me days to speak.

He didn't look up from the floor. "I was made a living weapon by the Old War Gods – d'ye remember all that time ago when we talked 'bout it?" His voice was hoarser than mine, as though he had swallowed sharp stones since his capture.

I nodded, but remembered he still was looking at the floor. "I do."

He grunted. "I wanted power – more power than I could ever achieve on my own – and they wanted a weapon they could simply point at their enemies." Now he looked up at me, and I could see that he, too, had been grieving. "I enjoyed it. I enjoyed hunting those that ran before me, and the wildness of _being_. I struck down animals, men, and anything too slow or too weak to join me." His voice was little more than a whisper. "I struck down children. I lost myself in it."

"But Nyema bound the Hunt," I protested weakly. I knew what I had seen – the Hunt had been released in the Palace that night. Almost a hundred people had been consumed by the Hunt, and some were still missing.

"She did. I don't know how it broke free." I could hear the confusion and pain in his voice, and I didn't care. I couldn't believe that his grief equaled mine, so I poured my pain into my accusations.

I squared my shoulders. "You killed her. She loved you."

He finally looked up at me; his face split, and the grief poured out. "She was the eldest of the _Bandrun_ ; of the binding runes. She taught her brothers and sisters to make wardings of their blood. To help those without control. To make peace in the world." I thought I saw a tear slip down his cheek. "And I loved her with all of my soul."

I snarled. "I hope you rot down here. I won't be back."

Kurama was waiting for me at the top of a very long set of stairs that led down to the deep dunegeons. He fell into step beside me silently, and did not press me for speech. "I think I'm too angry to cry," I offered anyway.

I frowned, that wasn't right. "Or rather, I think I've cried enough. I'm all out of tears." I reached for Kurama's arm to balance myself, ground myself, and he easily allowed me to rest my hand in the crook of his elbow.

He led me back to my quarters, but stopped short of opening the door. "I don't want you to be surprised, but I have friends waiting inside."

I raised an eyebrow. "Friends whose names are not to be mentioned in public?"

"The same," he affirmed, now opening the door. My quarters were dark – curtains drawn, lights extinguished. Kurama closed the door behind us, plunging us into pure darkness.

A light flickered brightly into life and I had to squint a little at the sudden flash. It was Aria, holding a candlestick. She hadn't lit it – her husband had, standing only a step to her right. I felt their energy ring through the Song – _together, together, alone and together_ – truer than I remembered. Their daughter was a quiet whisper, but she had joined their melody.

The single candle spread long ominous shadows in the room, and the somber expressions on both of their faces did nothing to ease the tension. "Hello again," I greeted, and Aria responded with a weak smile.

Kurama cut right to the chase. "Maggie, I need to ask a great deal of you, and I'm afraid we don't have much time."

"What is it?" There was a tightness growing in my chest.

He looked pained. "I can't tell you, unless you agree to a condition. Hiei will block your memories of the conversation, and afterwards, you will have no recollection until it is safe for the memory to be retrieved." He glanced back at the couple. "I would ask Aria to stand outside, but no one can know they were here."

It was extreme. It was _beyond_ extreme, as safety precautions went. "Why?" I whispered, possibilities whirling around my head.

Kurama glanced at Hiei, who shook his head once, and Kurama clenched his jaw. "I'm afraid I can't tell you until you agree. Please… _agree_."

Well, it was an awful predicament. If I said no… I wasn't sure _what_ would happen if I said no. I was scared to say yes; to let someone poke around in my head. Most of all I was afraid of what this awful terrible secret _was._

I nodded once, tightly, to Kurama. He nodded to Hiei. The third eye in his forehead glowed a soft amethyst. I felt a little fuzzier around the edges, but otherwise not greatly affected.

Kurama took a deep breath. "Maggie, Yasuo is the traitor at Court."

I felt all of the strength go out of my knees, and I sank back into a chair. Yasuo? My friend, Yasuo? "How… how can you be-"

Kurama answered my question before I could finish. "The tea you share, it's poisoned. It has a terribly bitter flavor, so-"

I returned the interrupting favor. "He masks it by making it overly sweet. What does the poison do, Kurama?" My mind was reeling, but also working in overtime, only slightly slowed by Hiei's influence. He hesitated, which only made me more anxious. "What does it do?!"

He was struggling to tell the story from the middle – I could see there were too many important details surrounding each step. "You must understand why he is doing this – he wants to discredit your authority, so that when…" Kurama interrupted himself, stopping fully to straighten his spine. "The poison is toxic, yes, but in a specific way. It warps the mind, forcing the victim to relive their very worst moments in a living nightmare." He recited it in a purely academic manner, coldly so.

I choked a little. "So every time I've had tea with Yasuo…"

He nodded, a jerky motion. "You have had nightmares the following night. They have been growing steadily worse, correct?"

I nodded, unable to find my voice. Kurama stepped out of his cold academic voice as he noticed that my hands were shaking. "He had a final test run. But not with you."

The feeling left my hands. "Woden?" I whispered. The pain was too real; too fresh.

Kurama nodded. "The higher doses are more toxic. Woden tapped into all of his demonic energy in a kind of cleansing surge in order to survive. It broke through his ward and revealed his true form. In his case, it was imminently destructive and lethal. It also had the added effect of removing _both_ of your standard guardians at Court." It made sense, in a sociopathic kind of way.

Kurama drew a chair next to mine, sitting close. "We don't believe he's acting alone. I learned that he is working with at least one other – Mishka."

Aria snarled in the shadows. " _Bitch._ " I remembered the name. She had been the one to cut out Aria's human heart.

Kurama didn't look back at her. He was staring at me very intently, and I knew the Big Ask was coming. "But we believe there's more. Maggie, we need him to believe that he succeeded, so we can follow him afterwards. For that to happen-"

Realization sank like a cold stone in my stomach. "He needs to actually poison me."

Kurama was silent.

I worried my hands, just processing information. Yasuo. My friend, Yasuo, had been poisoning and manipulating me at Court to appear unstable and violent. "So I'll go crazy?" My chest was tight, and my eyes felt a little extra wet.

Kurama reached out and gripped one hand tightly – it was comfort I was in dire need of receiving. "No – releasing the Hunt from Woden was the truest expression of his energy. That is what he is without a ward, when he is at full power. It's very likely that you will break the last of your wards, as Woden did, in order to access the power you will need to survive, but your full nature wasn't like his. Yasuo doesn't know that."

I shuddered, remembering my full power. "Before they bound me, the Song was… unpredictable."

Kurama 'hmm'ed in thought. "You have had a lot of training since then. How many of the wards remain?"

I thought back. "Not many."

There was pregnant silence in the room as three desperate demons waited for my decision. It was heavy and oppressive. Hiei and Aria and their daughter had been essentially refugees as I tried to discover who had attempted to poison Aria. I had failed, and only succeeded in becoming a puppet in the scheme.

The scheme itself was so murky – what was the _point_ of all of it, anyway? Kill a demon here or there, manipulate trade in a few places… I was missing something. Something important.

I lifted my head to meet Kurama's eyes, and saw the same torment there. He knew he was trying to piece together the image of a thousand-piece puzzle with only a half-dozen pieces. He was begging me to give him one more piece, to help him save his friends. But… he was also begging me to say no. "Maggie – say the word, and we'll find another way. Hiei can release the block on your memory, and we will find another way."

I pondered it in silence. It was a big risk, and Kurama knew that he was asking me to go in blind. If Yasuo sensed I suspected him, or if I started avoiding him or avoiding drinking what he offered, he would vanish into the Makai wilderness. Hiei and Aria would never be safe. I would probably never be safe.

I looked back at Hiei and Aria. She had looked respectfully away as Kurama and I shared our quiet speech, but Hiei's eyes locked on mine. He was _angry_ , full of a fury that nearly lit his skin on fire. I could see his rage at being unable to protect his family alone. But he was also standing his ground – not influencing the conversation, and allowing Kurama do offer me this option.

Something warm blossomed in my chest, filling an ache that had long trembled there. I looked back at Kurama. He was giving me a _choice_. One horrible tragedy or another, he was still giving me a _choice._ The warm feeling spread from my chest through my arms and legs, topping out at the crown of my head.

I nodded. "I'll do it." Hiei spoke from his corner, swiftly addressing Kurama. "Anything else before I close the memory?" He was leaving no room for me to back down, which I understood. I could imagine that he was also impatient to get out of the Palace – back to whatever safe refuge concealed his precious family.

Kurama shook his head, but turned to give me a questioning look. "I think I love you." It slipped from my lips easily, and my cheeks flushed a hot red. Kurama blinked, and his mouth gaped open a little. I looked to Hiei before I could embarrass myself further, or suffer through an awkward response from Kurama. "I'm ready," I said, not looking away from the red-eyed demon.

* * *

The Jagan glowed brighter, and Maggie let out a little sigh. Kurama's chest constricted agonizingly tight. He could see the warmth bleed slowly from her eyes – the impact of her personal revelation pulling back into a locked corner of her memory. The holes that had filled in her heart were emptying again.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she gave a little relaxed sigh, sinking down into her large armchair.

"Put her to bed. She'll sleep soundly, with no memory of this conversation." Hiei and Aria stood at the window, already ready to depart in darkness.

Aria offered Kurama a small smile. "She'll remember soon – after it's over. It'll be over soon."

Kurama nodded, but dared not speak. She had given up too much; he had _asked_ too much. It clawed at his insides far more sharply than when Hiei had stabbed him through the gut all those years ago. He would have preferred to relive that moment instead.

"She's brave. I'm sorry it came to this." Aria's parting words hung in the air long after their departure.

A long time later, Kurama lifted Maggie from the chair and brought her to bed. The moonlight from the open window shimmered softly on silvered hair.

* * *

I felt myself coming out of a deep sleep. The bed was incredibly soft, and the blankets piled high and deep. Pillows on one side of my head were plush and cool, while another pillow was firm and warm. I sighed, turning over to burrow deeper into my warm pillow. Then my pillow shook with laughter. Sleep lingered heavily on my senses, and I blinked blearily at it. I poked it sharply. "Stahp."

My pillow seemed to have arms, and calloused hands grasped my prodding finger gently. "If you want me to stop laughing, I would recommend not tickling me."

I stretched like a long feline, running a hand lazily through my hair. "I had the strangest dream," I moaned.

"Is that so?" my pillow replied.

I nodded, a loose curl falling over into my eyes. "Mmhmm. But first – coffee. And breakfast."

Warm lips brushed against my forehead, and long hair tickled at my collarbone. "As you wish, dear one."

I flopped over in the bed, burying my head back under the real pillows. Too soon interrupting my sleep, a hand was shaking my shoulder gently. "Maggie, your one true love is here."

"Coffee?" I grunted.

There was a chuckle. "Well, not coffee _exactly_ , but it's as close as I could find."

"Wha-? Oh." I finally stuck my head out from underneath the covers and realized where I was. My sleep had been so heavy that everything before it seemed like a strange dream.

"Now don't make that face, I worked hard to find the closest comparison to coffee we have available." Kurama sat on the bed, carrying a tray laden with food and two steaming mugs. I reached for the mug and he withdrew the tray. I pouted deeply and he laughed airily. "You have to eat something first – this coffee is much stronger than that to which you're accustomed."

"I want pancakes." I pouted like a child.

He set the tray down on the bed. "Well then you're in luck, because these taste just like pancakes."

"Do you have syrup?" I asked, trying to peer over his shoulder at the tray.

"Yes, dear one."

"You're the best, gimme."

"Yes, dear one," he replied.

"Smugness doesn't become you," I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue as he finally handed over the tray of _amazing_ smelling food.

"Yes, dear one."

I raised one eyebrow. "Can you say anything else? I think you're defective." I cut my first pancake hastily and shoved a huge piece messily into my mouth. I moaned a little – buttery, syrupy, delicious goodness.

He leaned forward, kissing the corner of my mouth and capturing a stray spot of syrup. "Yes, dear one."

I will not deny that I inhaled that food like a vacuum. I was oddly hungry, and it wasn't until I finished my pancakes in their entirety that Kurama surrendered the coffee-like beverage. It tasted a bit more like Chai tea than coffee, but woke me up twice as fast.

Kurama set the tray on my bedside table. "Are you feeling better today?"

I nodded, a stray curl flopping over in my eyes again, and I tossed my head a little to flick it out of the way. "Mm. Much; thank you." But I knew it had to end eventually. "What time are we due at Court?"

Kurama smirked; the corner of his mouth tweaking up in a way that made my cheeks warm. "Today you are mine, and mine alone. You will lounge in bed like the beautiful creature you are, and I will make sure you eat, and we will forget the rest of the world."

"But-" I started to protest.

Kurama held up a hand."Just for today. One day."

I nodded around my cup, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

His face beamed a very pure joy. "Well just look at you – hardly the Lady you present yourself to be." It was true. I had managed to get little dribbles of syrup and pancake crumbs everywhere. He took the nearly-empty mug from me hands and set back on the breakfast table, before lifting me swiftly off the bed even as I gave a whoop of protest.

"Put me down!" I laughed, tugging at his hair. He walked swiftly across my quarters, opening the bathroom door in a rush of steam and scent.

A wicked grin split across his face – I couldn't see it, but I could sure as hell hear it in his voice. "As you wish, dear one." And I was promptly dumped – pajamas and all – into a full bathtub. I yelped, but mostly from surprise. The water was deliciously warm, and the tub was large enough I hadn't needed to worry about hitting my head on a fixture. There was also a heady scent of roses in the water, petals drifting along the surface.

I sunk low in the water, crossing my arms in a pout. "You're a terrible creature," I accused, and Kurama barked a laugh in response. My brain hatched a terrible plan in an instant, and I sat up, leaning against the side of the tub. "Oh – Kurama – you have something-"

I reached for him, and he leaned over slightly – dubiously. I lurched forward, crabbing him firmly by the collar and pulling him into the tub alongside me (it was certainly big enough). Although my plan didn't go quite as planned and he ended up mostly on top of me, my chest pressed against his back like I was a damn sofa cushion.

"Oof – you're heavy! Get off!" I pushed at him, and he only leaned back casually.

"No, I think I'll stay awhile; I'm quite comfortable." He plucked a rose petal from the water and twisted it easily between his fingers. I poked him hard in the ribs and he gave a satisfying yelp in return, sliding off of my body and resting next to me.

He lay beside me in the tub – also still fully dressed – enjoying the warm tub.

"Is this how you would court any other demoness?" I asked after a time. _Or is it just because you're worried I might be broken?_ I left me though unspoken. I didn't want him to think of me as broken, but the thought still lingered.

He turned slightly to nuzzle his face against mine in a distinctly feline gesture. "No, but you're not just any demoness, dear one."

It was a comforting gesture. "And how would you court me if I were?" I asked, curiosity stirring.

Kurama hummed thoughtfully, stirring rose petals with a finger. "I would steal something very rare, and very valuable, and leave it on your bedside table. Perhaps use it as a storage rack for your socks."

I laughed heartily. "And instead I got not-quite-coffee, pancakes, and a bubble bath."

"Are you terribly disappointed?" His voice was languid, but still tinged with concern.

I shrugged, still smiling. "It's just such a domestic way to try to win my affection." Sadness flickered across Kurama's face – I almost didn't catch it. "Something wrong?" I asked.

He smiled wanly. "Of course not, dear one."

* * *

A/N: I'm trying to come back from hiatus! I worked out some overarching details, but both PBP and Weaver's Hands are coming slowly to me. Possibly because I know what a monumental pain it is to write, and I've been working on this universe for quite some time now! Thinking back, Waking Dreams was started at the end of 2014… that's quite a run.

ANYwho – hope you all enjoyed the return, the plot bunnies, and the FLUFF!

Many thanks to my reviewers: Kitsune to Tenshi-chan, MoonFox940, halem847, The Otaku Lady Priya, Sanguinary Tide, Biku-sensei-sez-meow, DarkWolf1689, LunaFisto, mchurch1992, THC, typiicaltaylor, and Vixeona!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	37. Doing Alright, Doing Okay

I stretched languidly, feeling more refreshed than I had at any point since losing my human heart. My bed was empty, but from the lingering warmth and a faint smell of roses I knew Kurama had left not long ago. He had been acting a little strangely yesterday – but then again, Woden's attack had been more than enough to disrupt routine. I imagined that Kurama was trying to give me space to grieve, or rage, or something else I didn't understand I needed yet.

He had left some fruit – fresh, of course – on my little table. It tasted perfect; from the garden of Eden itself. It should have been a great start to the day, but it just reminded me that Nyema or Woden had always brought me breakfast. Not because they served me, but because they generally seemed concerned that I wouldn't eat unless force-fed most of the time. Kurama's fruit breakfast was perfect, but I missed Nyema's carefully organized and healthy selections, or Woden's haphazard smorgasbord of sugary delights.

Nyema was dead. Woden was awaiting Enki's judgement.

Life went on.

I dressed, choosing Mukuro's scar-baring gown for Court. There had been terrible losses on all sides, and it was no time to show weakness. I drew my hair back and pinned it out of my face. It made my jaw look harsh and my expression angry. Perfect. The shadows had faded from around my eyes, and it took only a few pats to bring rosy color to my cheeks. I looked okay. I looked like I was doing okay.

Court was more sparsely populated than I had come to know – absences due to death, due to apprehension – and it left the room feeling cavernous. The echoes of hushed conversation rattled around my brain uncomfortably.

I sat in the large Seat of Alaric, picking at the armrests, still stained orange with someone's old blood. I tapped the armrest once. The other Seats were empty – I wondered if the others had died in Woden's attack. I wouldn't weep for Yuda, but Hokushin had been a calming presence at times.

The murmurs in the room died as Enki entered, the only sounds the groaning of his wooden throne as he was seated. He smiled warmly at the room, as though it was a room of his closest friends, and not bitterly rivalrous factions.

He spread his hands, greeting us. "My friends, I am glad to see so many of your faces after the tragic events of the recent past. For those who we lost, a moment of respect." Enki bowed his head briefly, clasping his hands before him. No one else in the hall bowed heads; instead there was only painful, heavy silence.

Enki let the silence hang a moment longer than was comfortable. He let his hands fall back to the arms of his throne, and smiled up at us again. "Yuda has returned to Gandara, and appropriate representation will be joining us in short order. I understand that there will be new and difficult choices ahead of us." He gestured to the two empty Seats. "The observant among you will also note that Hokushin has elected to return to Tourin, for similar reasons."

He shook his head. "It is a weary day, my friends." He drummed his fingers against the wood, considering briefly. I could feel the sound brushing against my skin – it was calming; regular as a heartbeat. "I believe we will wait until our Seats are filled to reconvene. Until tomorrow, we will all take the time to consider the best future. And perhaps, some of you may convince the more timid to return."

The hall emptied quickly – no one lingered to engage in the political side-talk. Yasuo made his way across the crowd as we joined the throng. "How are you?" he asked gently, his hand brushing my arm.

I shot him a harsh look. "You should know better, Yasuo."

He nodded. "Of course. A representative of Alaric would be nothing less than level-headed." His gold eyes flitted across my face, searching for something. "But I am asking my friend, who has lost another friend, if she is in pain."

I glanced to the side, but no one was listening to our conversation. I sighed. "There's no reason for it, and it confuses me. I'm angry, mostly. I try not to dwell on it. "

He nodded in understanding. "I have friends in the kitchens who were killed. I feel that pain as well." His golden eyes were dark, and I believed him.

A demoness I didn't recognize tapped his arm, gathering his attention. "My apologies, I need to attend to this," he excused himself, and I was alone in the crowd once more.

Kurama appeared at my side, his stride matching mine as if he had never been absent.

"My apologies for my tardiness. I did not expect Enki to cut Court so short today."

I shrugged. "You didn't miss anything."

"All the same, I know certain absences must have made it an odd morning." He hadn't meant it as a reminder, but it hit like one. It hit like an accusation because I _hadn't_ noticed the absence of my friends in the room as I sat. At breakfast, yes, but their presences had been far more important at Court.

I hadn't noticed the absence of a guardian or a comrade at my shoulder; was it because I was ignoring the loss, or because I didn't care? I wondered if I was some sort of heartless monster – one fuzzy evening and a morning of pancakes and I was totally willing to forget some of my most important friends.

I held back a deep sigh – be proud of me, they had been starting to become a new part of my language – and tried not to engage in self-flagellation. "It was an odd morning, yeah." I agreed.

Kurama walked closely at my side, his hand occasionally brushing against mine. It was comfortingly uncertain – the hesitation of a much younger man. It was a reminder that for all of Kurama's ancient history he still treated my feelings as human, and in that sense we were on an even playing field of inexperience.

The walk back to my suite is a long one, but we travelled in silence, hands brushing against each other but never clasping. It felt like a relief to reach my door – I had been gone barely an hour, but I needed to hide from the world again. I kicked off my thin shoes as I walked in and flopped over on the bed, sighing heavily into my pillows. There was that sighing again.

"Maggie?" he asked tentatively. "Do you want to be alone?" Kurama had barely stepped into the suite, a hand still on the doorknob. The door creaked slightly at the hinges as he closed it another inch.

 _No. I don't._ "If you have somewhere you need to be, you don't have to stay." I murmured around the pile of pillows. It was slightly bitter of me to say that. His absences had been extended and without explanation, but we weren't the kind of people who asked.

The door clicked shut. I grumbled something darkly in my head before the bed dipped beside me. "That's not an answer to the question I asked you."

"You're busy." I was rationalizing trying to make him leave.

I felt his hair tickle my arm as he leaned closer. _"Maggie_ ,"

"I want you to stay," I begrudgingly admitted. "Don't you dare smile." I warned. It didn't work. "I can hear you smiling." I rolled over on the bed, glaring at him. "Literally – I can hear the muscles in your face contracting smugly."

Kurama blinked innocently, his face bland. "I assure you no such thing happened."

"Right," I grumbled. I settled into the downy comfort of my bed. I felt okay. I didn't think I _should_ feel okay, but I didn't want to waste the moment. I tucked myself against his side, satisfied to find that I fit quite well.

Kurama stiffened slightly in surprise as I pressed myself against him – one could honestly just call it cuddling – but seemed at ease wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Yeah, it was cuddling.

I was okay. It was all okay.

I opened my mouth a few times before any sound came out. I didn't know what was trying to come out, but it was coming from that place of _okay_ and _alright_ and _comfortable_ and something ineffable tingling in the back closet of my memory.

It came out on the third try. "When I went to the Dove Center, they did a lot of tests, but everything seemed okay." Kurama stopped breathing. I could hear it.

"I woke up in a windowless room, on the floor, and I was so confused. This lizard-demon came to the door, and took me to meet the Doctor for the facility. He took some information, fitted me with a collar, and explained what was going to happen. He told me…" my voice cut out for a moment. "He explained that I would be made into a servant of hardier stock."

After that brief falter, my voice steadied. "I met a woman, a demoness named Chinmoku, in the halls. She gave me back my med-alert bracelet, and I think that's not something she was supposed to do. When the time came for my-… my transplant… she was the one across from me."

I wasn't looking at Kurama directly, but at the texture of his dress shirt. I was just talking to a shirt, and not Kurama. "She managed to touch me, and explain that she was giving me a Gift. I know now that she was willingly passing along her powers with the Song. I don't think it's something a demon can be born with – I think it's earned or fought for. It has too much will of its own to be inherited, I think." I caught my digression, and tapped his shirt like one might click a pen idly. "Anyway, they did the surgery on her first – for the harvest. They didn't bother with anesthesia, with her or me."

I paused, wondering whether to give more details. Kurama was breathing again, but in a too-even manner, as one trying not to startle a sleeping partner. I think he got the gist of it, so I moved on. "I woke up in my cell, and it was worse than the surgery. I felt like I was dying, one little piece at a time. I was being burned alive from the soul outwards. But I had my bracelet – it was this symbol that I just latched on to." I clenched his shirt briefly in a fist. "I survived the change. A lot of people didn't."

"We didn't have a lot of time to recover before they lined us up for auction. There was this little girl in line who was upset, so I gave her my bracelet to make her smile – she had the same name as me, which was funny. That's where you lost my trail, I think?" I glanced up at Kurama's face, and my stomach shot into my throat.

I looked away quickly – a flash of green and gold closer and more vibrant and angry and bleeding emotion – as he nodded once. I returned my focus to his shirt. It was a nice shirt.

"I was sold, along with a few others, to a demon who ran some fancy demon's mansion. We were chained together and run through the forest. We were given clothes, and food, and these stupid cleaning tasks to do over and over. I don't think he needed as many servants as he had, but there we were."

I smiled at the flicker of the only good memory in the whole experience. "I had a friend there… She was going through the same kind of delayed changes that I was, but hers were more obvious. She was slowly turning blue, but it was pretty. We were cleaning a hundred or so crystal glasses, and they started to hum. We thought it was her – another part of her change – but it was me. The glasses exploded from the resonance, and hurt her pretty badly. She was blamed and… and I don't know what happened to her after that." My voice had fallen into a whisper.

I re-centered briefly, still finding courage in Kurama's too-even breathing and really nice shirt. "That night, the Song made its first real emergence. I caused quite a ruckus – levitating furniture, hitting things – and they stopped me by putting warding papers on my skin. It was awful – I could feel the Song slipping away, like watching everything I had ever loved die right in front of me."

I pressed my face against his shirt, running one finger over the same spot I had been staring at. "I was sold to these two big assholes who seemed to pick up troublemaker slaves. This chain line was… it was a lot worse. People were missing appendages, and the running pace was so swift that I almost didn't…" I paused, trying to reign in the lingering terror. "I fell, but I managed to get back up after being dragged a few hundred yards."

Kurama's hand was still around my shoulder, and any time I had shifted closer his arm had moved with me, keeping me close, encouraging me. I needed that strength. "These two found enjoyment in ripping their slaves limb from limb at night – just pulling off body parts to watch people suffer. They had a little healer who would put you back together, but he didn't do a very thorough job – just a patch. I got torn all apart – that's all of the scars. There was a young boy – I tried to take his place in this. They just laughed, and I got to watch as he suffered _more_.

The silence in the room was deafening. What I wouldn't have given for some elevator music. "The last day, we were running and the ogres realized we had been seen. They tried to escape, but it was over. Mukuro and some of her soldiers had found the slavers, and she didn't tolerate slave trading in Alaric."

This part was hard.

"Her soldiers went down the line releasing the shackles, but they didn't realize mine had been warded iron. As soon as they were loose, it all came back. The Song came back, and it was so _angry._ I was hurting, and it was angry, and together we… I…" My voice cracked. "I killed them – instantly. I didn't care about the innocent people who were around them. I needed them dead. I _needed_ them to be _dead_."

I cleared my throat a few times, beating down the emotions and tears fighting for a part in the conversation. "Mukuro invited me to Alaric, and the rest is… the rest is okay. I was given guidance in controlling the Song – to earn the right to control it through discipline and hard work. I came to Court. Here I am."

I turned my head, not quite self-assured enough to look up at those _green gold angry passionate_ eyes, so I settled on his jaw. It was locked tight. "I'm tired of secrets." I said softly. "And I just wanted you to know that I'm okay."

The hand that had been on my shoulder was running through my hair, slowly. I risked a glance a little higher than his jaw. His mouth seemed relaxed, so I looked higher still. The gold was releasing his eyes, and majority returning to green.

"If you tell me you're alright, I believe you." His lips pursed for a moment. "But if you are anything other than comfortable, tell me, and whatever you need I will provide."

A thrill ran through my chest at the bold offer. It made my face hot and my hands cold. "I think I would just like to stay like this. For a while." I nodded, feeling like a crushing schoolgirl. "I'm okay."

He nodded. Once. "Then we'll stay just like this."

* * *

I woke up alone. My bed was empty, but from the lingering warmth and a faint smell of roses I knew Kurama had left not long ago. There wasn't fresh fruit on the table, so I guessed that Kurama had left to get something a little more substantial for breakfast. I smiled; _maybe he's getting more not-coffee_ , I thought.

I slipped out of the warm blankets, and shrugged on my heavily embroidered dressing gown. I splashed some water on my face, and pulled the tangles from my hair. I felt refreshed, inside and out. It felt so _good_ to be okay – I had actually forgotten what it felt like to feel on an even keel.

I grabbed a handful of pins for my hair and sat on the edge of the bed. There was a light knock at the door and I had to spit a pin out of my mouth to answer. "Come in," I called over my shoulder, tucking a few more pins into my hair.

It honestly hadn't occurred to me that it would be anyone but Kurama. A slippery, cool sensation slid against my senses, and I stood up from my bed in a jerky motion, whirling around to face the door as my hair fell from its half-pinned state.

She leaned in the doorway as though she owned the hall, my room, and the entire floor. Her bionic eye wandered around, but her organic one fixed on me like a predator that still has room for one more meal. "You've grown complacent, and lazy."

"Mukuro. It's good to see you again." My voice was clipped, but I attempted to show some kind of appreciation at her presence. Even though I was horribly confused.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, but it seemed less than casual. "Is it? You hardly seem pleased to see me."

I bobbed my head to the side, shrugging a shoulder. "Consider me surprised."

She measured me up with a glance. "I got your message about Woden and Nyema. Pity."

I returned the calculated glance. "You came to pay your respects?" I cocked my head to the side. "How unlike you."

She was silent, and then offered the barest hint of a smile. "Indeed – and not at all why I'm here." She sauntered slowly into the room, pushing off from the doorjamb. "You're going to want to sit down."

She shut the door.

* * *

A/N – holy cow, I haven't posted in three months on this story! PBP is so, so close to being over, and I just can't bring myself to finish it. I'm also leery of finishing it too quickly and leaving you all wishing I had been more detailed or whatever. It's a curse.

I know what you're thinking – how can it almost be over!? There's still so much left to happen, and we don't even know who the bad guy is working for yet? Yeah, sorry about that.

Where the hell is Kurama in this chapter? In and out and gone for no reason?

I think this chapter represents the best mental health moment Maggie's had since she left the Human World. She's okay. She accepted the things that have happened, and they aren't threatening to drown her anymore. This is a super important moment for her, even though the chapter just probably seems like fluff. It's plot fluff. I also had to sit down for several hours and force this sucker out after I realized I hadn't posted in three months.

Many thanks to my ever-patient reviewers! MickeyISrawd, DarkWolf1689, Nevermorea, Miqila, Snaguinary Tide, halem847, RedPanda923, typiicaltaylor, Divine Demonic Assassin, MoonFox940, and Toreh!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	38. The Battleground

My hands were clammy and cold, and brushing them idly against the sides of my tunic didn't make a difference. Mukuro had brought me new clothes for the day's agenda, and I felt comfortable covered for once. Ordinarily, me and my scars were the center of attention for Alaric. Today, I would be playing the role of quiet adviser at Mukuro's shoulder. So I was dressed in muted tones of blue and green and my hair was pinned back in unassuming fashion.

The three Lords were in attendance. Yomi for Gandara. Yusuke for Tourin. Mukuro for Alaric. The room thrummed with power. I wondered how much of the room would be obliterated if all three chose to flex their auras at the same time.

Yusuke seemed incapable of sitting like an adult in his chair. He hunched forward, resting his forearms on his thighs in some faux-casual façade.

Yomi sat like a man living in his own world – forcefully straight, but with a mild smile plastered on his face. I had never seen him before, and the excess ears and horns were almost offputting.

Mukuro strode through the room like someone at home in the space, regardless of the fact that she had not been in the room in quite some time. She sat, placing her hands on the blood-stained arms like she owned them.

We opened with the usual ceremony as Enki entered and sat in his expressive wood throne. He welcomed us, and no sooner had he opened the floor for comment then Yomi stood to speak.

"Your grace," he bowed shallowly, "I would like to propose that the conversion of humans to demons be made fully permissible within all States and powers that present at Court."

Even knowing it had been coming, the words still made my stomach churn.

* * *

" _I can't believe this!" The floor buzzed under my feet, and it might have been my fault. The mirror in my bathroom trembled, threatening to crack. My dressing gown swished around my legs, slapping against my calves._

 _Mukuro sighed, leaning back in my little chair. "Would you stop pacing? You're going to wear out the floor."_

 _I stopped pacing but tugged a lock of hair a little too aggressively. "I thought Yomi had no part in this?"_

 _Mukuro tilted her head to the side in a disinterested affirmation. "He didn't. But he's a man of science and logic and pure reason – if someone presented him with a rational and financially prosperous argument then he would be easily swayed."_

 _There was some subtext that I was missing – I could hear it lingering at the fringes. "What do you mean?"_

 _Mukuro examined me for a beat. "Yomi is fond of Aria Jaganshi – the first easily identifiable convert in the Makai. Not the first, to be sure, but being of higher status she makes a good ambassador for the cause."_

 _I was still missing something. "I don't understand."_

 _Mukuro hummed under her breath. "I forget sometimes how new you are to the Makai. Aria saved Yomi's lands from a wildfire, using his forces strategically and with few losses. He was impressed, and even tried to convince her to stay in Gandara permanently." Mukuro grinned, but it was more of a smirk. "The Lady Jaganshi has more tact than her husband, and was able to refuse without burning the bridge entirely."_

 _I huffed. "I don't understand how this would encourage him to propose-"_

 _Mukuro leaned forward briefly, cutting me off. "Yomi would see the argument in taking humans of value to the Makai and converting them. I have no doubt he considered offering Aria a conversion while making his original proposal. Yomi will follow any avenue to achieve his goals." Mukuro crossed her arms. "If any of the three Lords would be swayed, it would be Yomi."_

 _I shuddered. "So what do we do? If he genuinely believes this, what do we do?"_

 _A slow, predatory smile slid across her face. "We join the game that someone has begun in the background."_

* * *

 _Have you lost your damn mind?!"_ Yusuke roared, launching himself into a standing position.

Yomi smiled. "I believe that humans would be capable of making valuable contributions to our growing society, bringing skills and technologies we have yet to imagine."

Confusion and anger were written clearly across Yusuke's face. "It's a _horrible_ thing to do to someone – it's _torture!_ "

Yomi was unperturbed. "I understand that it can be painful, but so are many talents that a demon may strive to conquer. This is the future of the Makai; a few labor pains are to be expected."

Yusuke started on a string of incredibly colorful epithets, tied together with wild gesticulation. Yomi only let out a disappointed sigh. "Please sit down, Lord Yusuke. It's so hard to understand you when you are so emotional."

Yusuke's ass slammed into his Seat with all the power of a man whose masculinity has just been threatened. He pounded one elbow onto the arm of his Seat and it splintered under the force of it. "So, _Lord_ , you want me to agree that this is just fine?" he crunched the end of the arm in a fist. "Because you seem to have forgotten who my friends are."

Yomi's smile held a hint of a smug sneer, without changing one iota. "And you seem to have forgotten that they would be dead without Conversion."

Mukuro chose that moment to speak up, perhaps to keep Yusuke from trying to rip Yomi's head off. "Choosing the two most irregular examples is hardly helpful." She smiled to herself. "Nor is baiting another Lord."

Yomi ducked his chin and chuckled. "Forgive me; it doesn't take much effort." He waved a hand, dismissing Yusuke's growing anger. "Personal feelings aside, I would like to hear a poll from the States and powers present." Yomi raised his hand. "I call for a vote."

A cry from the Gallery of "Seconded!" came too swiftly for me to identify the source.

I leaned down, hastily whispering in Mukuro's ear. "Before we vote, I would like to add a condition to the poll," she interrupted, speaking as swiftly as I could whisper.

Yomi's eyebrow raised. "A condition? What of?"

I hissed a final word and took a step back. Mukuro paused, weighing my words before speaking. "If we are to universally legalize human conversions, we must legalize demonic ones as well."

The eyebrow raised higher. "That would be rather pointless, don't you think?"

Mukuro smiled, ready to drop the hammer. "You misunderstand me. We must legalize the conversion of demons to humans." Her words were smooth and sweet as honey as a tortured gasping cry rose in the audience.

Yomi nearly lost his composure – I could see it in the twitch of his hands and the fluctuation of his aura. "That would be condemning murder; here has been no recorded incident of a demon ever surviving the loss of their core."

Mukuro shrugged. "There are scores of incidents of humans not surviving the conversion to a demonic nature. In truth, the ones that survive are few and far between. Their conversion suggests an exception, not the rule. Besides, how are we to know for certain that it will not work if we do not attempt it?"

Her cold eye leveled on Yomi. "What do you think, Yomi? Would the weaker or stronger demons be more likely to survive? I'm eager to see how many volunteers you manage to muster up to investigate the theory."

He actually _laughed_. "I don't imagine there will be many."

"For good reason." Mukuro nodded her agreement. "This is the first time all Lords have been present at Court since the Seats were formed. Can we dare to believe that it is for anything other than a historic decision?"

Yusuke leaned back in his seat and whistled. "Damn! Is it really? We should have donuts or something."

I am certain that if Yomi lived with open eyes he would have rolled them hard enough to see the whites of his eyes. "Be that as it may, this is not as complex an issue as you are making it out to be. I'm not suggesting that we forcibly convert every human and bring them to the Makai, just that we make it an option."

"This option has historically proven quite detrimental for humans involved," Mukuro instantly retorted.

Yomi's mouth slimmed to a terse frown. "Are you going to continue this circuitous argument until we all die of old age?"

"Of course not. I have far better things to do with my time." Mukuro's dry humor elicited a murmur of nervous laughter from the Gallery.

Her humor was lost on Yomi. The man had the emotional range of a post-it. "Then I believe it is the time we hear from those present."

I leaned down to whisper in Mukuro's ear again, but she held up a relaxed hand to stop me. "Of course, but with a condition."

 _Not this again_ , I could almost hear him think. "And what might that be?"

She let the silence hang for a moment – my Lord had an affinity for the dramatic. "The votes should be restricted to those who were Converted."

Scandalous murmurs spread through the room.

Yomi scoffed."Ridiculous. There are only two known Converts in the Makai-"

Mukuro waved at me over her shoulder. "One of whom is present."

Yomi raised his voice over her casual interruption. "The future implications of this decision are far too important, and would affect more lives than just that of humans."

Ready, Mukuro sprang her verbal trap. "Are you suggesting that your personal endeavors and comforts are more important than the wishes of those that would be Converted?"

Complete silence.

She uncrossed her arms, pressing her palms against the arms of the Seat. "I have proposed two conditions on your vote; that we additionally legalize demonic conversion, and that the vote be restricted to those already Converted. Will you allow either of these conditions?"

Yomi's jaw flexed in irritation.

Enki cleared his throat. "I think we have spent a great deal of time on these sensitive issues, and not enough time in contemplation. Let us take a recess, and reconvene in two hours."

Mukuro shot me a look. _Go to work._

The Gallery emptied quickly – everyone was still nervous about spending excess time in the presence of power – and I caught glimpses of Yasuo and Kurama being pressed towards the door by the crowd. I waved a hand, trying to tell Kurama I would see him later. I don't think he saw me wave – his gaze was fixed on Yasuo. Odd, but I didn't have time to focus on it.

I moved like a fish upstream across the crowd, finding another figure easily. "Lord Yomi, a word?"

* * *

A/N: Hoooooo boy. This is a much shorter chapter, but I bet it doesn't feel like it. The Three Kings/Three Lords haven't been in the same room since the first day of Court after Enki was crowned. They're going to take a poll of all States and Powers on whether they should legalize human Conversion, and then Enki gets final say (but it's based on how many States and powers _want_ it to be permissible).

The chapters are easier to get through now, so it shouldn't be THREE MONTHS before the next chapter comes out.

Thanks to my reviewers: halem847, Sanguinary Tide, MickeyISrawd, Leahcar-Soutaichou, MoonFox940, Guest, and Divine Demonic Assassin!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	39. The Battleground Part II

I moved like a fish upstream across the crowd, finding another figure easily. "Lord Yomi, a word?" I reached out, hovering my hand just short of touching his arm to get his attention.

He turned his head, blind eyes closed but wrinkled at the corners in a façade of a smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you; Lady Magnolia of the World's-Song."

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Yomi." I tucked my head in an abbreviated bow. "Is there somewhere private we could speak?"

He said nothing for a moment, seeming to contemplate my worth as it related to his time. I held my breath, hoping he found my presence worthy. I needed him to listen – I had a plan, but it required his cooperation for just a few minutes.

He finally spoke. "Of course; I have quarters here."

I followed him in silence to his study – it seems the Lords had far better accommodations than their lower representatives. Light streamed in through a narrow window, catching on dust in the air to create a pretty golden glow. While sparsely furnished, the room was oddly cluttered; maps and stacks of books covered every surface, and the noble Lord was forced to clear a seat for me in front of his desk.

I wondered how he didn't trip over anything.

He gestured for me to sit across from him. "Would you prefer to observe or avoid the traditional pleasantries?" he asked mildly, with a smile.

"We hardly have the time, my Lord. I have less than two hours to attempt to change your mind." I crossed my ankles and leaned forward in the heavy wooden chair. "I could appeal to your feelings, and describe to you how painful the process is. I could appeal to your sense of justice, and describe the life that was lost to me, and the. I could appeal to your history, and describe the mutilation that was thrust upon me during my enslavement."

I leaned forward a little more, lowering my voice. "I could threaten to deafen you, leaving you truly blind to this world."

Yomi's bland smile faded, though he didn't truly frown or scowl; he just wasn't trying to appear pleasant anymore. Before I could offend him further I leaned back again. "I will do none of these things. This was presented to you logically, so I will debate it the same way."

Yomi tilted his head slightly, very slightly. "Fighting logic with logic. Intriguing."

I took it as encouragement and permission to continue. "It would be the end of the Makai as you know it, that much is true. It would be the end; not for the better."

I let the statement hang in the air, far more violent than my threat not moments before.

"Explain," his words were calm but hid a thin coating of venom.

I laced my fingers together in my lap, trying not to let my voice speed up with nerves. "Rich humans are so fearful of death – even with nothing to contribute, they would Convert. They will pay bounty hunters to acquire the strongest Cores possible. How many bounty hunters do you think it would take to gut the strength of Gandara?"

Yomi steepled his fingers under his chin, and it reminded me strongly of Kurama when he was deep in thought. He didn't appear as though he would speak soon but the empty silence was making my skin itch.

I tried to intercept the opposing argument; the positive influences that had been presented to him previously. "The Lady Aria I assume is a splendid person, and I believe I have made an impact at Court. I would not look to us as examples to form the rule. Between the two of us you have a diametrically opposite experience, even though we experienced the same Conversion. She is the only person who could hope to relate to my experience, but we both know that we have lived totally different lives."

More silence. A furrow had formed deep in his brow. The tension in the air was thicker than silence; it buzzed with irritation, with confusion and frustration mixed together in a hair-raising whine that rippled against my skin. I wanted him to speak. I wanted him to break this stalemate of speech and give me some idea of whether or not I was succeeding at changing his mind.

Because I felt like I was failing.

"From my experience, I believe that the humans would overrun the Makai in short order and tear apart the fragile peace we have begun to construct." I smiled and tried to add a dash of levity. "At least until the next Tournament, of course."

Yomi remained silent, the buzzing sensation growing stronger against my skin. I clenched my hands and glanced down. I stared at the scars on my wrists, decorated by a few remaining warding tattoos. They hungrily absorbed the light that was cast smoothly in the room. A reminder, as I was a living reminder, of the choices of others that had been inflicted upon me.

I had done all I could.

I stood, and the motion seemed to snap Yomi out of his contemplative trance. He turned his face to track my movement but did not speak. I paused next to the chair I had occupied, one hand resting on the high back. "You are the master of your decisions, and I would hope that you have the wisdom to weigh all of the costs against benefits that might not exist. Whatever you choose may not impact either of us directly, or it may change everything tomorrow, or next year, or next century. It might end the world."

I released the back of the chair and moved to leave. My chest felt both heavy and tight; I had been filled with heavy stones to the limit of my skin. I had thought such a logical argument would appeal to the stoic Lord, but I appeared to have made no effect. I hoped Mukuro would be able to battle more vigorously after Court reconvened.

"Lady Magnolia," Yomi called after me. I turned. "I find myself now understanding the rumors that follow you."

I raised an eyebrow. "And that is to say…?"

He chuckled low, just once. "That is to say… I can say nothing at all."

* * *

I took several deep breaths as I wandered down the empty halls. Yomi was an inscrutable wild card. Mukuro and I could debate until we were blue in the face, but in the end, it came down to popular opinion. If it seemed as though the majority of his subjects were in support of ripping out people's hearts, then Enki would allow it.

I fluffed my hair, trying to relieve the tension building in my skull. I wished Kurama wasn't so preoccupied with… whatever it was. I had thought he and Yomi had come to some kind of understanding, but apparently not. I chewed on my lower lip and wondered if he would be irritated if I asked him to join me. He had seemed so intent on… my brain came up with only static; like a tired conversation, you were supposed to be listening to but were thinking of doing laundry instead.

I turned a corner and nearly ran over a servant girl. She had long silver hair and wide, owl-like purple eyes. She reminded me strongly of Sensaina, but the eyes were far more piercing. She curtsied deeply, apologizing. "Forgive me, m'Lady; I didn't see you." Her voice was sweet and soothing.

"It's alright," I said swiftly. "I'm glad you're here, actually. Could you find Lord Kurama and have him meet me in my suite?"

"Right away, m"lady." She curtsied again and darted around the corner as fast as a mouse. I didn't even catch her name.

I figured I should probably return to my room, as she had taken off at nearly a dead sprint to find Kurama. I didn't want him to have to wait on me just because I was wandering aimlessly in the halls.

My pace quickened, partially from a desire not to make him wait, and partly from the anticipation of seeing him. I was strangely attached to the idea of seeing him, always. He lingered in my thoughts, haunted my dreams, and all because of what? A handful of weeks spent in each other's company?

It was ridiculous. Had I only kissed him maybe twice? The first as a human – brief, fleeting, chaste – and the second not so long yet an eternity ago – hot, passionate, and brief. Too much kept happening in our lives – interruptions and deaths and hesitation.

I opened my door and entered like a breeze, shutting the door swiftly behind me. The _snap_ of the door rang through the empty room. I had managed to beat Kurama here – good. A fleeting thought passed through my mind like lightning, and my cheeks flushed. If I really wanted to push the issue, I could always wait for him… naked.

I pressed my face into my hands as my face grew quite hot. It was so… so… I couldn't put my finger on it. It felt inappropriate. I had no real claim on Kurama, and he had a rather flimsy one on me, which he claimed was mostly so others would leave me alone.

I also wondered how long we could do this; dance around each other, wishing, wanting, until the end of time. We were polite people, never imposing more than our due on each other. If this was a lingering human trait it was one I was becoming far less fond of as time went on. Another thought flared in my mind but faded just as fast into that television static in the back of my mind. My chest tightened for no reason and loosened as the static set in.

I bit my lip, pulling my green tunic top over my head, which dislodged a few of the pins in my hair. My thin black tank underneath stuck to my body with static and I plucked at it distastefully. I shucked my blue pants, shaking off another round of static running down my legs.

I stepped in front of the mirror, turning slightly this way and that to look hard at myself. My scars had begun the long, long process of fading, and no longer looked angry and red from every angle. A scattering of ward tattoos caught my eye across my arms – more akin to strange freckles than the full sleeves I had possessed in the beginning.

I looked okay. Nothing amazingly special or glamorous. I was me.

There had been a time, long before my Conversion, that I had focused too much time and energy on my appearance. I had my hair trimmed every three weeks, as a good girl should do, and wore _just_ the right amount of makeup. I had summer and winter foundation creams and always made sure that my cheeks were touched by a youthful glow. It had been important to me. And then it wasn't.

There had been so much time lost. I could have spent that time laying under a tree and watching the wind blow through the leaves. That would have been time well spent. _Or maybe,_ I thought _, I could have focused on my health and seen a doctor sooner_.

But you can't get time back. It's the only real commodity we have.

Time.

I peeled off my sweaty undergarments – I hadn't realized how much I had been sweating from sheer nerves while meeting with Yomi – unpinned my hair, and took another hard look in the mirror. Definitely nothing spectacular now.

The same body I had always known was there, just reassembled in mostly the right way once or twice. It looked like me, and most of the time it felt like me. I tilted my head from side to side, and so did my reflection.

My reflection's hair swayed from side to side, spilling over her shoulders in unmanageable tangles of curls. Her shoulders sagged a little, and she rolled one ankle idly back and forth. She looked small. She looked tired. She looked a lot like me. I wanted to tell her to get some rest, to let whatever would happen, happen. I wanted to tell her that it was alright to show her feelings for this man and that the world would not end if he didn't feel the same.

 _Be bold_ , I whispered to that girl in my mind. _There's never enough time._

There was a knock at the door that startled me. "Who is it?" I asked, voice a little pitchier than I had intended. I had covered my chest with my arms reflexively, but it did nearly nothing to cover my nakedness.

His voice came through the heavy wood of the door clearly. "It's Kurama; you asked for me?"

 _Be bold. There's never enough time._

* * *

A/N: Alright, Maggie, what's it gonna be?

Where Yomi and Kurama enjoyed the impressive banter in the series, I don't think he would be so chatty with someone who was more direct – he seems adaptive to me. Maggie is direct and is challenging facts he believed to be unshakeable.

And not to throw any more stress into your lives, but we only have about three more chapters in this story O_O and then you'll be forced to read Weaver's Hands to find out what happens to Maggie and Kurama in the future. If I'm feeling kind I might even post on this story what chapter you can skip to if you REALLY hate Kuwabara/OC stories.

Many thanks to my reviewers: Miqila, typiicaltaylor, THC, and halem847!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	40. The Battleground Part III

_Be bold_ , I whispered to that girl in my mind. _There's never enough time._

There was a knock at the door that startled me. "Who is it?" I asked, voice a little pitchier than I had intended. I had covered my chest with my arms reflexively, but it did nearly nothing to cover my nakedness.

His voice came through the heavy wood of the door clearly. "It's Kurama; you asked for me?"

 _Be bold. There's never enough time._

I chickened out.

I grabbed my embroidered robe from where it was draped on the back of my desk chair and threw it on. I was covered from collarbones to toes in a matter of moments.

"Come in," I called, trying to steady myself.

The door opened and shut with barely a rasp of the metal hinges, but I could feel it buzzing on my skin. My blood was still rushing quickly from adrenaline and if I had still been in possession of a heart I'm sure it would have been beating out of control.

Kurama seemed to sense my discomfort. "Is something wrong?" he asked kindly.

I hesitated. I couldn't remember exactly what had spurred me into summoning him here. "I need a second," I choked a little and fled into my bathroom, robe billowing behind me.

 _Get it together!_ I slapped my cheeks a few times, trying to both clear my head and put a little color in my pallid face. Somehow I managed to have the bloodless face of someone in shock and the bright red sternum of someone in heatstroke. My hands were shaking. I took a deep, steadying breath.

 _Ok,_ I thought to myself, _last chance. You can do this. The worst that can happen is you lose your pride and your only friend._

My legs shook a little as I moved to the bathroom door, hand resting on the latch. The trembling in my fingers rattled the metal, and I gripped it tightly just to silence it. _Here goes._

I pushed the door open a little harder than I had intended; it swung wide, banging against the wall and drawing Kurama's attention instantly to the door. There was concern alit in his eyes, but it faded as I pulled loose the knot of my robe ties.

The heavy robe fell to the floor with an audible _whumph_ of settling fabric.

Kurama's eyes snapped up to meet mine.

They did not wander.

"I think," my voice squeaked, so I started over. "I think we've spent enough time wasting time."

That was lame.

"I mean… I – I want you, Kurama." I looked down at my bare feet briefly but jerked my head up in self-defiance of the wave of shame that was threatening to drown me. "And it's ok if you don't want me, too. If that's the case, just walk out the door and we'll never speak of this." Which I definitely didn't want, so I hastily added "But… I think that you do."

The room was silent save for the sound of breathing. Actually, it might have just been my breathing. Staring at Kurama, waiting, wanting, I'm not certain he was breathing. His face was emotionless and his posture stiff. He looked like he had been caught in the middle of a household task and now couldn't remember why he was standing in the laundry room with a box of Saltines.

His hand twitched violently – more of a spasm. I saw a ripple of silver run through his hair, swift as sunlight through the ocean's waves. It made him look like a figure walking through dappled moonlight, barely touched by the silver glow. I could feel the stirring of his energy in the air.

He shuddered nearly imperceptibly and all at once his energy dissipated, and the silver vanished from his hair. He moved slowly, maintaining eye contact until he was standing right in front of me.

The heat rose in my face as his eyes searched my face, and he dropped his eyes to the floor.

He crouched briefly, retrieving my dropped robe. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I felt hot with shame as he stood and draped the heavy material over my shoulders.

"Magnolia, please don't be upset." His voice was tense. "Given today's circumstances, I believe it would be unwise for us to be careless in our actions."

I stiffened, reaching up to my shoulders to clutch the robe's weight tighter on my body. "You think this is… is _careless_?" My voice was a venomous hiss.

Kurama grimaced, and shifted onto one foot, putting some more distance between us. "I only meant that we both need to be mindful of appearances – at this juncture now more than ever. Consider my position, and yours." He still wasn't making eye contact.

"What does that have to do with this?" Maybe it was the combination of lust and shame coursing through my veins, but I couldn't follow his reasoning.

"If you would get dressed, I would be more than happy to explain."

"I'm sorry, am I distracting you?" I meant it to be teasing but it came out strongly bitter.

He sighed deeply. "My dearest Magnolia, there is nothing I would like more than to give you everything you asked for. Your present state is a tempting reminder that I cannot."

Without another word I grabbed my tunic and pants from the floor beside my mirror, retreating into the bathroom once more to dress and give myself a moment to compose myself. I imagine Kurama needed the time as well.

I was embarrassed. Not only for feeling rejected but that I hadn't considered how two completely unrelated events might be interpreted by an observer. I couldn't fathom Kurama's self-discipline that his mind had pursued every possible effect of our actions before moving a muscle. It seemed beyond a reasonable expectation for a human being.

 _But_ , I knew, _he's not human. But not quite a demon yet either._ But that was mostly a technicality. The heartbeat that had given me so much comfort when we had first reunited was… negotiable. And so, it seemed, human spontaneity had fallen by the wayside a long time ago.

I tugged the tunic over my head and yanked up my pants, taking out my frustration on the sturdy fabric. I ran still-shaking fingers through my fair in an attempt to tease out a knot that had appeared.

I exited the bathroom a little calmer than I had entered and didn't slam the latch into the wall. There was probably a dent in the wall already from the first time anyway. "Okay – explain."

Kurama gestured for me to sit in my desk's chair. "Describe in detail how you left Court."

I sat and leaned back, lacing my fingers over my lap. "I found Yomi, as Mukuro and I had planned, and requested a private audience."

Kurama nodded. "Did he agree to the audience easily or did you need to further press for his time?"

"It didn't require additional requests, if that's what you're asking," I replied.

"Were there witnesses to this agreement?" His tone was diplomatic, but his face was without affect or expression.

I replied slowly. "Half the Gallery saw us leave together."

"Did you meet in an open hall or his private quarters?"

I nearly rolled my eyes. "As if I would talk about this in the hall-"

"Answer the question," he interrupted.

I sighed in exasperation. "His study, of course."

He nodded. "And when you left, were there as many witnesses?"

"No – there wasn't anyone in the hall. I ran into a servant later, who I sent to find you." I pursed my lips. "Get to the point."

Kurama leaned back in his chair, resting his hands regally on the armrests. "To summarize, you left the hall with Yomi, which was witnessed heavily. The meeting took a very short amount of time, and no one saw you leave his study. Not long after leaving the hall, there is a spike in familiarly intense demonic energy from the direction of the Lords' quarters wing – many of those in the Gallery do not have permanent quarters here, so would have no way of identifying exactly which room it came from." His eyes were cold as ice. "This would lead many to assume that it came from the Lord and Lady who very recently left together."

Oh.

 _Oh._

"I would _never_ -" I started to exclaim.

"Magnolia, you are a woman up against the wall in an issue near and dear to your heart. Do you truly believe that any other demon would be so picky about how they achieve a goal?" The ice in his eyes paralyzed me. "At an idealistic best, it might imply that you are attempting to influence Yomi's advisors."

I choked on my tongue a little, making an undignified croak in my throat. It was so against my personality or basic traces of self-respect to imagine someone resorting to such measures. Maybe it was common in the Makai, but the thought had never occurred to me. I wondered if I might get to that point of desperation if my opponent had been anyone other than the ever-logical Yomi.

Kurama slid from his chair into a one-kneed kneeling position before mine. The similarity to the standard proposal pose made my chest constrict painfully. "Dear one," he grasped my hands with a desperation that he hid in his eyes. "Please trust me. I am not rejecting your advances or spurning your affection. I can only explain it best that it would be most prudent to wait until the danger has passed."

I nodded, agreeing. There was a great danger of failure, to be sure. There was danger looming around each corner in the form of greed, or pain, or desperation. If it was fully expected that I might take desperate measures to prevent the legalization of Conversion, what might my mysterious opponent do?

Yomi was not my true opponent, but I could kill the measure in Court with him. The danger was hidden in the shadows – in whatever demon who had proposed the idea to Yomi. The blind demon was nearly an ideal candidate for a cat's-paw of the highest order. He had power – beyond my wildest imagination – and a sense of pride that did not match his frigid exterior.

Kurama was staring at me and I realized that he was waiting – quite anxiously – for me to reply. "I think I understand."

He visibly relaxed. "Thank you." There was only a moment's peace in the acceptance before we both realized we needed to return to Court. "We should return to the Gallery. I believe our recess is nearly over."

I thought we had plenty of time left, but Kurama hurried me out of the Suite. Maybe he was worried I was going to give in to my desires again. Maybe he was worried he wouldn't say no if I did. We wandered casually through the halls, following a growing crowd as we took "the long way" back to the Gallery. We were on the receiving end of a few nasty stares, but no one directly confronted us.

It was a silent walk, and Kurama didn't speak again until we were approaching the large carved doors of the Gallery. "I wish you the best of luck, Maggie." His green eyes flashed to me – full of a warmth that his posture did not give away. It reminded me of something I had nearly forgotten.

"Didn't you think she had the strangest eyes?" I asked out of the blue.

"What do you mean?" he asked, eyes moving from me to survey the crowd. He was always on alert.

"The servant I sent to find you – she had these big strange eyes." I waved my hand in front of my face for emphasis.

He smiled, but it was flat. A professional smile. "They were a very flattering shade of pink, yes."

 _Pink?_ "No – they were-" I was cut off by Enki himself entering the room.

Kurama pushed against the small of my back, directing me towards Mukuro. "Later, dear one."

I ascended the handful of steps to the Seats of power, my attention firmly fixed on Yomi, seated leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully on his chin. My blood was rushing in my ears painfully loud just watching him. I couldn't know if I had reached him – the demon had the most impressive poker face of anyone alive.

Mukuro was already seated and glanced up at me as I appeared at her shoulder. "And?" she asked.

I made a thoughtful hum. "I don't think he's decided yet."

The idle chatter as the gallery slowly filled rose to a crescendo akin to the milling crowds at a popular theatre performance. It still didn't seem to bother the sound-sensitive demon, this his brow had developed a furrow.

"Lord Yomi, has the recess given you time to consider your concerns?"

"It has, your Grace. But before I address them, I have a few questions for Alaric's Lady."

I thought for a moment that he was referring to Mukuro – _Lord_ Mukuro – in a disrespectful manner. I paled when Mukuro turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

He meant _me._ I tucked my head into a courteous bow. "I would be pleased to answer your questions, Lord Yomi."

There was an uncomfortable pause. I tried not to blink. Not that he would know.

"Lady Magnolia, how old are you?"

That was unexpected. "Excuse me?"

"You age, in years."

"I have had some difficulty keeping track of time in the Makai, but I was twenty-two years old at the time of my Conversion." There was a murmur making its way around the room. _Unspeakably young for a demon,_ it was. _Too young for this power_ , they said.

Yomi nodded, his usual mild smile never faltering. "I see. And what was your profession?"

I quite literally had no idea what he was getting at. "I was a librarian – one who helps others find books that speak to their interests or needs. I also repaired damaged antique books, and dabbled in archiving."

Yomi leaned slightly to one side, propping his elbow up on the arm of the chair and leaning his head on his fist. "You helped others better their minds, and prevented knowledge from being lost to damage or time. That is a noble endeavor, Lady Magnolia." He looked too casual; it seemed forced. A cat stretching underneath the bird feeder.

"Thank you." My response was clipped. I wasn't entirely sure he wasn't mocking me.

He deepened his casual lean, which had the added effect of helping to project his voice back into the Gallery. "If you could go back, knowing that you would die long before anyone in this room, would you?"

And there it was. He had laid out my short, banal life. Plain as plain cream cheese on a plain bagel. Untoasted. "My choices were always intended to live my own life. The decisions that brought me here today did not belong to me. If I could reverse it, with all the consequences that you have described, I would."

The murmurs returned, but the buzzed more softly against my skin. Freedom was key in the Makai. It was fought for. Killed for. Died for. Freedom of future, of fortune, of health, and of dreams. Enslavement of one demon to another came from poor choices – the wrong rebellion, the wrong castle raid. Human conversion was believed to be better – longer life, stronger – than letting us live a short, meaningless life.

But it was our choice.

I could feel the moment where I went from being the center of his attention to being invisible again. He released that false sense of ease and sat up straight in his Seat, turning an empty gaze to Enki. "Your Grace, I will accept the vote with Lord Mukuro's conditions. The vote will include provisions permitting the ability to convert demons to humans, and that the vote will be restricted to the Converted present."

My voice was strong and rang with joy through the hall. "Your Grace, I would speak against the open legalization of Demonic Conversion."

Enki gave a decisive nod. "Then the issue is dismissed."

* * *

A/N: I'M SORRY DON'T HATE ME I KNOW YOU ALL WANTED FLUFFY LEMONS BUT I JUST COULDN'T DO IT. SO you may be wondering WHY THE HELL NOT? Two things – one, Kurama's politically-minded explanation. Second – he's worried about her feelings because she has a partial block on her memories. Third, and _the hardest_ for him, if they're canoodling in her room then Yasuo can't try to make his move, and the whole reason behind blocking her memories is defeated. **Overall, a shitty position to be in.**

This story turned into a political one fairly quickly, and puts down a lot of backstory and context for what's to come in Weaver's Hands (Part 3 of this whole story).

Many thanks to my reviewers: Sanguinary Tide, halem847, Typiicaltaylor, Guest, MoonFox940, Miqila, MickeyISrawd, and UzumakiRaven!

I started writing this story Jan 3, 2016. I imagine it'll probably be all over almost exactly one year later.

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**


	41. From Whence We Came

_**Previously, in Pressed Between Pages…**_

 _The murmurs returned, but the buzzed more softly against my skin. Freedom was key in the Makai. It was fought for. Killed for. Died for. Freedom of future, of fortune, of health, and of dreams. Enslavement of one demon to another came from poor choices – the wrong rebellion, the wrong castle raid. Human conversion was believed to be better – longer life, stronger – than letting us live a short, meaningless life._

 _But it was our choice._

 _I could feel the moment where I went from being the center of his attention to being invisible again. He released that false sense of ease and sat up straight in his Seat, turning an empty gaze to Enki. "Your Grace, I will accept the vote with Lord Mukuro's conditions. The vote will include provisions permitting the ability to convert demons to humans, and that the vote will be restricted to the Converted present."_

 _My voice was strong and rang with joy through the hall. "Your Grace, I would speak against the open legalization of Demonic Conversion."_

 _Enki gave a decisive nod. "Then the issue is dismissed."_

* * *

It was over.

I suppressed the urge to jump up and cheer in the middle of the Hall. Instead, I stood solemnly next to Mukuro with a silly grin on my face for the rest of the day's Court proceedings. It was exceedingly boring after what had just been avoided; Harth asking for aid regarding new humans found wandering around, Alaric agreed to help, Lord Yomi requesting materials from Tourin for a pet project … you get the idea.

It went on forever.

My attention waned and the chatter faded into a comfortable buzz in the background of my mind. My senses wandered, enhanced by the Song, taking the time to appreciate the huge stone hall. The stone tiles had been hand carved with great care to lock together without a mortar, as had the walls. It was a combination of obsession and perfection that held the resonant hall together. I idly wondered if, without mortar, it held together well against natural disasters. _Does this part of the Makai get hurricanes or earthquakes for that matter?_

A messenger appeared at my elbow – how they managed to materialize without disturbing anyone I had never quite figured out. "Lady Magnolia, there's been a disturbance reported in the cells," he whispered quite low, but it shot through me as though he had yelled it. There was only one reason why he would come to me instead of main security.

 _Woden_.

I knew I wouldn't be able to focus on that banality again for the rest of Court. I glanced at Mukuro, who dismissed me with a vague wave of the hand. This was utter banality – she no longer needed my presence. My tunic slapped against my legs as I strode out of the Hall, attempting to look at once casual and confident. It's an odd combination, but necessary for observers to both ignore you and get out of your way. A flash of red in the Gallery betrayed Kurama's approaching presence. I paused at the great wooden doors, giving him a few moments to catch up. His hand grazed my elbow gently as we closed the doors with barely a sigh of the wood.

I didn't make Kurama ask the question. "Woden's causing trouble, it seems." Irritation and stress and general agitation buzzed against my skin, rising in tension with every breath.

"I will look into it," Kurama stated plainly like it was no more trouble than making a cup of tea.

"Oh no – I can't ask you to do that," I fumbled with words briefly. His presence just did that to me naturally, it seemed.

He offered me a warm smile – those were rare when we weren't in private. "You didn't; I offered. I would not have offered were I not more than willing to help." I couldn't bear to think of Woden, truly, so I was grateful. In hindsight, though, I wished I had gone to see him – many things would be different if I had.

He squeezed my hand to comfort me – the most affection we would share in public – and with a swift release turned to go. I turned as well so as not to linger in front of the large doors – anyone could come or go at any moment, and just hanging out in front of the doors would look odd to say the least.

The Song thrummed in my chest, _someone's watching you_ , and I turned. Kurama had stopped at the turn of the hall, hand on the wall, with a truly ineffable expression on his face. It was… worry.

And longing.

And pain.

The noiseless static grew in the back of my head, impressing upon me that I was forgetting something important.

I offered him a tired smile, waving once.

He blinked like he hadn't realized I had seen him watching me, and smiled back.

And then he was gone.

* * *

Yasuo was waiting for me in front of my Suite when I arrived. The golden man looked pleased, and more relaxed than I was accustomed to seeing him. "I believe congratulations are in order." He held up a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of crystal goblets in the other, although he had a rather chagrined smiled on his face. "Forgive me for bothering you when you must be tired, but I'm leaving this afternoon for Harth."

Once he mentioned it, it was obvious that he was ready for heavy travel. His long golden hair was in a tailed braid, and his usual loose tunic replaced with riding leathers. I wondered how rude I seemed for essentially ditching my friend as soon as Kurama came back into the picture.

The least I could do was see him off with a drink. "It's no bother, Yasuo – I'm happy to celebrate." I felt genuinely proud of myself for my accomplishments at Court. I had bested the system and beat whatever shadow-figure was attempting to manipulate humanity.

I welcomed Yasuo into my Suite and he opened the wine as I let light into the room; opening the window and lighting a few candles to illuminate the remaining shadows. "What in Harth is so important as to demand your presence?"

"They believe they may have unearthed a valuable natural resource in what was previously believed to be barren lands. They're quite excited, and appropriately so."

"Well that's excellent," I agreed, accepting a proffered crystal goblet.

"Oh dear," I cringed. "I'm afraid I think this wine has turned, Yasuo." It was quite acidic with a bitter flavor accompanying the familiar vinegar nature of a wine turned bad.

"Oh, has it? That's a shame." He took the goblet from me and chucked the liquid out the open window, swiftly followed by his own.

I laughed, followed swiftly by a light cough. The cough was followed by a second, but stronger. The sensation wouldn't go away but became an itching sensation crawling down my throat like mucus from an old cold to settle too heavily in my stomach.

I cleared my throat in an attempt to dispel the feeling. "Pardon me for a moment, would you?" I excused myself, trying to ignore the fluttering, nauseating feeling that had suddenly turned in my stomach and started crawling back up again.

I poured myself a glass of water and downed it quickly, trying to drown the sensation. It didn't help, nor did a few long, calming breaths. The crawling sensation grew stronger with each breath, radiating through my chest out to my skin. I felt it pressing against my flesh with pins and needles and claws. I looked down at my hand in distress – I expected to see little bugs scrambling to and fro under my skin, but there were none.

There was, however, the ashy shadow of Song fluttering under my skin. It looked like the passing shadows of clouds drifting over open Montana grasslands, but I couldn't find the same peace that the memory evoked. The sooty pattern grew more frenetic and widespread as the skin-crawling sensation grew stronger.

 _What's happening to me?!_

Yasuo's hands were on my shoulders unexpectedly. He was looking over my shoulder at the same dark coloration on my arms. "Don't fight it," he whispered soothingly.

He was holding me down, but I couldn't gather the coordination to push him away from me. I turned to strike with Song and instead was struck with terror. It wasn't Yasuo holding my shoulders, but the huge Ogres that had torn me apart. The two monsters reached for me and shared a menacing grin. They morphed before my eyes into Dr. Yureli and Garado from the Factory. The grins remained the same on their dual serpentine faces, hands reaching for my body with a sense of ownership.

I crouched down on the floor, covering my eyes in the most childish attempt to hide. I felt like a lost toddler trying to block out the world. But my hands were not enough to block out the screaming. It cut through my hands, ears, and soul. It was earth-shattering, world-ending, heart-breaking terror. It was Chinmoku – the kind, faint light of hope – dying beside me again.

The Yasuo-Ogre-Yureli-Garado monster was gone, I was alone in the room, but the fear wouldn't subside. Song blasted out of me on all sides, slicing without mercy into the stone walls and floor. It was lashing out with me, trying to kill the source. I _needed_ it to be gone. We would kill anyone and everything we had to in order to be safe.

The fear and desire to kill any and all were bubbling so high in my body, but couldn't breach some final dam in my mind. I writhed on the ground, fear and terror and pain were drowning me, but they were without reason – blind, all-encompassing terror. My head was pounding, and the floor ground uncomfortably against my face.

My skin burned and sizzled under the few remaining ward marks. The air around me was hot- too hot – and sounded like a low-burning fire as the wards cracked against the pressure of my rising demonic energy. The last ward crackled and burned on my skin with blazing defiance before finally shattering into oblivion.

A wave of Song rushed in the breached dam of my mind, and a feeling of _completeness_ encompassed me.

 _We are alright_ , I knew at once.

 _There's no need for pain or fear._ The Song and I had realized this together, before.

I could hear the Music of the World.

I could hear little songs as the stones hummed quietly.

I could hear whispers between trees outside.

I could hear bloodsong humming through the veins of people walking several stories below me.

It was _magnificent._

And then I felt it.

 _It._

A terrible discordant music screeched through the air, light as a thought and powerful as a thunderstorm. It crashed into my soul, ripped at my Song, clutching and clawing for purchase inside me.

 _ **Help me**_

It cried

 _ **Help me**_

It screamed

 _ **Help me**_

It roared.

I gasped for the fresh air around me, having collected a screaming _something_ tightly around my soul. Something was horribly wrong, but I couldn't place it. I couldn't understand the meaning, and it pressed against my senses so fiercely I thought I might die.

The fear and pain and anger and discordant music and all the fear _that_ carried nearly choked the life from me. I was alone in space, tumbling in the raw music and waves.

I was holding myself together at the seams – full of Song and pain beating against my insides and threatening to tear me apart. My head was fuzzy around the edges and I couldn't remember why… but it was coming back.

The television static in my head had resolved into memories, but they played like overused VHS tapes – scratchy and indistinct. A flash of red hair and a feeling of tender affection glimmered behind my eyes.

It was a struggle to remember the name.

 _Kurama._

Green eyes joined the red hair. Yes, that was his name. A fountain of memories burbled in my chest – good feelings, warm feelings, safe feelings. Kurama the clever fox.

 _Kurama._

 _Kurama will know_ what to do.

I tilted towards the door from my leaning position, arms still clenched tight around my shoulders. I couldn't work the door without letting go of myself, and that seemed impossible. The clear solution, of course, was to blow the door off its hinges with Song.

It blasted into the hallway, cracking deep into the stone across the short space and letting out a deep groan. The air filled briefly with stone dust from the pulverized material. I lurched through the now open hole in my wall, but only made it a few steps down the hall before I was forced to stop.

A woman stood before me, her face familiar. She had huge, owl-like light lavender eyes and pure white hair. She was the servant I had sent to find Kurama only hours before, but she was barely recognizable as the same person. She stood with aloof confidence, and the plain dress and apron of a servant had been replaced with a soft-looking charcoal blouse and deep purple pants.

"Hmm," she hummed, shifting her weight onto one hip and tapping her chin with a slender finger. "Looks like he was wrong. Oh well."

She reached forward faster than I could blink and laid a hand with feather-light touch on my brow. "Don't worry, dear; let Mishka take the pain away."

And then, I think I did die.

* * *

A/N: Happy New Year, Readers!

Oh, btw, TWO CHAPTERS LEFT.

Thank you all SO MUCH for your patience! It's been a crazy few months for me, and for a stretch there I didn't have a laptop (hard to write, then).

If your questions can be summed up with the following sentence – WTF I THOUGHT SHE (MISHKA) WAS IN PRISON – then you need to go read a chapter of Weaver's Hands (specifically Ch 10: Mishka's Mystery) for an explanation. The sad part is that this is getting posted first so you'll have to wait for me to update that story… OTL

Many thanks to my ever-patient reviewers! I have been trying to respond to your reviews as they come in, like a good Author. Thank you to Sanguinary Tide, halem847, UzumakiRaven, Miqila, Leahcar-Soutaichou, and MoonFox940 !


	42. Walls Fall Down

_**A/N: BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS; IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE.**_

* * *

 _ **Previously, in Pressed Between Pages…**_

 _A woman stood before me, her face familiar. She had huge, owl-like light lavender eyes and pure white hair. She was the servant I had sent to find Kurama only hours before, but she was barely recognizable as the same person. She stood with aloof confidence, and the plain dress and apron of a servant had been replaced with a soft-looking charcoal blouse and deep purple pants._

" _Hmm," she hummed, shifting her weight onto one hip and tapping her chin with a slender finger. "Looks like he was wrong. Oh well."_

 _She reached forward faster than I could blink and laid a hand with feather-light touch on my brow. "Don't worry, dear; let Mishka take the pain away."_

 _And then, I think I did die._

* * *

Kurama was not in a mood to be trifled with.

He knew full well that whatever was happening in the Tombs was a distraction intended to separate him from Maggie, but that didn't make it any easier to walk away. He knew if he stayed, it would arouse suspicion, but that didn't make it any easier to walk away. He knew Maggie had agreed to all of this, but that didn't make it any easier to walk away.

He had to let her walk towards danger. It was unbearable. _Magnolia is a powerful demoness,_ he reassured himself. _Even with her power at full-strength, she will be able to control the surge that comes with fighting the effect of the toxin._

He was half-distracted descending into the prison quarter of the Palace. The air cooled the further he descended, and the dry calm of it helped to soothe his senses. He could see the bottom of the stairs not too far below, lit only dimly by the faint orange glow of distant cell barriers. _Almost there._

And then he felt her turn.

It was unmistakable – a deep, rumbling thunder that ground ancient and immovable stones in their seats and rained dry mortar from the new spaces between them. He stopped instantly on the step, turning to look up the way he had come. Her power pulsed stronger; hot and angry waves almost palpable on his skin.

Just as he tensed to run back up the stairs – _no sense in keeping up the pretense -_ there was a flash of blue-white light visible at the bottom of the steep stone stairs, and Kurama hesitated.

 _Magnolia is more important_.

* * *

I woke up on a cold floor covered with a thick layer of grit and stone dust. It had settled into my hair and stuck my eyelashes together. I sneezed and instantly regretted it; the stabbing sensation it produced in my head was unbearable. I pressed my palms against my eyes in a feeble attempt to push the needles out of my brain, but it made no difference one way or another.

I curled up into a ball, whimpering softly and waiting for the sensation to subside.

I tried to push it away with my mind – to push the internal agony into the outside world – and the floor trembled. It felt good – so good, so _good_ – and so easy to let it out of me. The pain behind my eyes lessened to that of a dulled knife, and I sighed in relief. I clenched my fist and _pushed_ with my will below my skin. The hall rumbled and walls groaned, stone shifting and falling apart in ways it had never meant to move. Dust rained down from above in clots and spurts as century-old dust gave was released from ancient creases and joints.

With the thundering release of my pain, I could finally hear my own thoughts, but I couldn't remember what my internal voice was supposed to sound like. An unfamiliar familiar voice was whispering something dark, about someone I loved. I thought I loved. I hated? I hated. But I couldn't remember that someone's name. I couldn't remember _my_ name. I panicked for a second but it was washed away by another nauseating wave of pain. I pushed the pain out too swiftly and the floor collapsed beneath me as stone was atomized instantly.

I shrieked as I fell, landing hard on the floor below. My shoulder took the brunt of the fall and burst into further agony. I cried out, my pain making the walls shudder in response. I wavered between wanting to hold my injured shoulder and flinching away from my own touch.

The unfamiliar familiar voice was back in my head as I sobbed in pain. _It's not that bad_ , it reassured me. _It doesn't really hurt, does it?_ The voice was warm and smooth like honey, and I suddenly realized it was right.

My shoulder wasn't red and bloody like I had first thought – it was perfectly fine. Maybe some very light bruising was all. I flexed my fingers experimentally – no pain. I pushed myself up to a sitting position and looked around the new hall. It was as unfamiliar as the last, though the voice was whispering to me that I should stand before danger approached. Danger?

 _There is danger everywhere,_ it declared, though gently. _But you are strong; they can't hurt you if you kill them first._

 _Kill them?_ I didn't want to kill anyone. The very thought of-

 _Of course you do,_ the voice pressed. _Do you want to hurt? People here make you hurt. It would be so much better not to hurt._

It would be better not to hurt. That was true. But why did they want to hurt me at all? How did I know these people that wanted to hurt me? Were we enemies? All of the questions rattling around my empty brain were starting to bring back the prickle of pain.

 _They want to hurt you, torture you,_ the voice explained. _They like torturing._

I did not want to be tortured.

 _Then kill them._

Who?

 _All of them._

Who is 'them'?

 _They're here_.

A voice was calling from the hole in the ceiling above me and I couldn't hear a word; each syllable was a declaration of war and every sibilant jab a battle cry. I saw a brief flash of crimson-red hair, and instantly a white-hot ice pick of pain speared me between the eyes.

I knew without reason that his touch on my skin would burn like red iron, and I understood what the unfamiliar familiar voice had meant – people were made of pain and suffering. Everything about them would flay me to the bone.

I forced myself to look up at my enemy.

It felt like my eyes were bleeding, such was the agony I felt to look upon him. He was everything I hated. He was everything I feared. I wanted to crawl into a small corner of the world and never think of him again; to never again know the soul-searing hatred that this pain brought to mind.

His face was a blur of indistinguishable colored shapes, for my eyes would not focus upon it. I saw green, and it stabbed at my heart. I saw red, and my breath was snuffed out. In those shapes of fire and earthly fury, I saw my death.

And I knew the truth.

For the pain to stop, he had to die.

* * *

"Maggie!" Kurama cried out again, trying to get her attention. His hands gripped the edge of the collapsed floor, and as much as he wanted to jump down to help her… something was wrong. Something was dangerously wrong, and it was triggering every warning bell in the back of his mind.

She was covered in blood, and her shoulder looked dislocated – no, she had fractured her humerus; he could see bone shards poking through flesh. More disturbing, she was using the arm with no regard for the damaged bone.

She was gripping her head with ash-gray hands, fingernails cutting into the flesh with the intensity of her grip. Her mouth was wide and screaming, although Kurama felt it in his bones more than heard it.

" _Magnolia!"_ That seemed to get her attention. She tilted her head, some confused gears struggling to lock in motion. Her eyes were completely black – the ink of Song had concealed all of the blue and white in her eyes, leaving a glassy black mirror, reflecting only the pain and terror and confusion that had been scrawled across her face. The physical manifestation of her power was haunting, as though she were sinking into ash and ink.

Then her face twisted in rage, and her energy spiked. _"You."_ Her voice thundered through his chest like fireworks.

Pure survival instinct pushed him backwards from the edge of the collapsed floor. As he lunged back, the floor vanished from beneath his feet in a cloud powdered stone. More holes were punched in the floor the further he danced backwards, and he found himself pressed against the back wall, holding his breath.

The silence was not comforting.

There was a shuffling and rolling of stone faintly drifting up from the now-gaping hole in the floor. It was completely unlike the assault Maggie had just thrown at him. It sounded more like she was wandering around the rubble.

Kurama hardly dared to breathe. He couldn't be certain what had stopped the attack; losing sight of him, or a return to her senses. _She should have returned to normal, albeit with heightened powers, after she broke through her wards._ Kurama stepped carefully, quietly, to his left.

The sounds of rubble moving below him stopped.

Kurama froze.

He waited.

The sounds resumed.

 _More quietly, then._ Painstakingly, through the length of an eternity, Kurama moved around the hole in the floor, and eased his way down the hall. _While I could certainly attempt to subdue her through force alone, it is not ideal._ Kurama scowled. _Some influence has warped her behavior beyond my perception._

A strategic retreat and regrouping would be required.

 _Hold on, Magnolia._

* * *

I blinked, holding a rock in my hands.

"The wall fell down…" I murmured, clutching the rock like it meant something. It _did_ mean something. "The wall's falling down…" Of course – that was it –

 _Don't think about the wall_ , the voice comforted me. _You lost him, remember? You should go find him._

I didn't remember. I had been getting rid of the pain, throwing the noise at the pain. But the pain was gone now, and I was staring at the rocks.

"The wall fell down…" I repeated.

 _FORGET ABOUT THE WALL_ , the voice roared in my head. I screamed, dropping the rock and banging fists against my head. _Don't be childish, it doesn't hurt_ , the voice reminded me.

I hiccupped, and stopped hitting my head. Of course. It didn't hurt. My hands were wet from my tears, but since when were tears red? Of course tears were red. I had cried on the rock, so now it was a red rock. I didn't say what I was thinking, but I turned the rock over in my hands.

It was a good rock, and I put it next to another rock. It looked not so good there, so I put it next to another red rock. Yes, that was right. I set to work picking up other rocks, making a pattern that looked good. It was the right pattern.

The right pattern would fix everything.

* * *

The Palace was a nightmare to navigate safely – half of the hallways were collapsed and a quarter looked to be on the verge of it imminently. The lights had been snuffed in most places as well, so the only light came streaming through cracked walls and open windows in dusty streams.

Kurama forced himself to ignore moans of pain, and cries for help in the dark. _Magnolia_ , was his only reminder. _Magnolia._ Had he not been following a mental map of the Palace, Kurama would have needed only to follow the sounds of suffering growing louder to find the Great Hall.

One of the great wood doors blocking entrance had been cleaved in two – by Maggie's power or internal force, he couldn't be certain. Out of the shadow a figure appeared, kicking open the remaining panels to allow more people to exit. Relief ran through him in a wave as a face came into focus.

"Yusuke!" Kurama called. The Mazoku glanced over as he tossed a door panel the size of a dinner table into a pile of rubble.

"You're not dead! That's great!" He called back. "Half the damn throne room collapsed with the earthquake – Mukuro is pulling out _bodies_ right now – what the hell is going on?!"

"An unfortunate situation has… gotten out of hand." Yusuke didn't seem to like Kurama's vague reply, and shot him a sour look, so he tried again. "Maggie is being manipulated."

Yusuke's mouth flapped a few times. " _Maggie_ did this? Holy shit – I didn't think she was strong enough to bring the whole goddamn Palace down!"

Kurama could only offer a weakly placating grin. "I confess I've never been on the receiving end of Magnolia's powers."

Yusuke made a rudely derisive noise. "Well _I_ have, and it ain't fun!" He looked around at the destruction. "I don't remember it being like this, though."

The walls shuddered violently, and without warning. There were screams in the Great Hall, and Yusuke grabbed someone by the back of the neck as they tried to run past him. "I wouldn't do that if I was you," he said as a boulder smashed into the ground right in front of the pair. The demon mumbled his thanks through a wet sort of sob, and ran back into the Great Hall.

"Damn it – we don't have enough people for this shit!" Yusuke gesticulated into the doorway behind him. "Enki and the other _vaguely-competent_ people are just holding it together in there."

"Even a complete moron would have called for backup by now." Let it never be said that a certain old woman, whose coarse personality softened only for a select few, enjoyed anything other than a dramatic entrance.

Master Genkai, calm as ever, was strolling down the hallway as easily as if the rubble-strewn marble was her own stone courtyard. Her arms were clasped behind her back, as always. She glanced at Kurama briefly, with an expression that said nothing less than ' _You have fucked up, royally'._

Kurama tilted his head in a small, respectful nod. "Master Genkai."

"Hey, Grandma!" Yusuke yelled with both enthusiasm and no small amount of relief.

"Dimwit," she greeted in return.

Yusuke sighed, brow furrowing in confusion. "How did you know we needed help?"

"Kurama asked me to confirm that Mishka is in Spirit World prison, and she's not. An illusion has been holding her spot. So whatever's happening here – she's involved and that makes it potentially that much more deadly." She grinned. "And unlike some idiots, I brought the best backup for dealing with Mishka."

Emerging from the shadows right on cue, "Hiei! Damn – all we need is Kuwabara and we'll have the whole gang back together!" Yusuke barked a laugh, fists perched on his hips.

"The Fool would be little help here," Hiei spat sourly. He was already in a foul mood, and Kurama only needed one guess as to why.

"The reunion would need to be cut short, I'm afraid. Hiei – you are needed elsewhere." The fire demon's angry gaze landed on him, but Kurama had far greater concerns. "Watch over Magnolia that she doesn't hurt anyone else, keep her distracted if possible; away from the main halls."

 _I know you're angry,_ Kurama tried to get across, _but please; I can still fix this._

The fire demon seemed to consider the request before vanishing without another word. Kurama would just have to take that as some kind of agreement to assist.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Yusuke commented.

There wasn't time to explain. "We need to get to the Archive – Aria's plant archive."

"Is there anything left? I thought Mags got all the samples already."

 _I hope not._ "She collected from Alaric and Tourin – but I don't think she knew Aria left samples here before she and Hiei were forced to run."

Yusuke whistled. "Well shit – where is it?"

Kurama didn't know. "It would be somewhere cool and dry." He realized too late – an instant too late – that Hiei would have been able to tell him.

Yusuke looked down at the floor briefly, and a grin spread slowly across his face. "Like the prison in the basement?"

Genkai snorted. "Looks like that brain of yours works after all."

* * *

I blinked, not sure of what had just happened. I had been building my pile of rocks – _very certain pattern, very certain style, got to get it right_ – and a man had appeared. I thought he might be familiar, but his face was fuzzy and indistinct.

 _He's one of them_ , the voice told me.

I couldn't be sure. His face didn't make my brain hurt, it just made me… I was confused.

 _He's with –_ the voice said a name, and my insides burned immediately. I dropped my rock, doubling over and clawing at my stomach. _He's going to hurt you_ , the voice promised.

The dark man said something, and it hurt my ears.

" _Go away!_ " I yelled, throwing the Painat him. He vanished as the sound blew up the spot where he had been standing.

I blinked, trying to see through the dusty air. He had gone away. Oh.

 _He would have hurt you_ , the voice reminded me.

But I wasn't sure. Was I sure?

The dark man reappeared, further away. He reached under his cloak slowly, and I watched him carefully. He pulled his hand out again, and held it out for me to see. He was holding out something white and green and –

" _No!"_ I screamed, throwing just a rock. It bounced harmlessly against the floor too far away from him. "You shouldn't have that! It's not yours!" I tried to run towards him, but the loose rock underfoot made it more of a scrambling effort. _You don't want that_ , the voice tried to tell me, but I _did_ want it. I wanted it so badly, because that was _it_ , that was… it was _something_.

The dark man was walking backwards, easily traversing the uneven footing. "Come back!" I cried, but he did not slow. He matched me, step for step. It was like running in a dream – no matter how fast I ran, I never got any closer.

I tripped, and fell on my outstretched hands. Rocks. Red rocks. Had I cried on these rocks too? I must have, because these were red rocks, and red was the color of tears. I picked up the rock, and made a little pile with the other rocks. I needed to make the right pattern to build the wall back up.

"Walls can't fall down…" I mumbled. "I can do it, I can help…"

The dark man was in front of me. He was so close that I could almost bring his eyes into focus as I looked up at him. He had red eyes. "Red like the red rocks…"

 _He's going to hurt you, you need to stop him_. The voice was insistent, but even the pain that washed over me at her words couldn't override the utter fascination I held for the thin stalk of green he held between his fingers. It was perfect – flat in a way that most living things aren't – and I knew without reason that it had been pressed, and made delicate, and eternal.

Pressed, between the pages of delicate paper.

"What is it?" I asked, as softly as the green thing was delicate.

The voice didn't want me to know, but I needed to know, I _needed it_ because it was important. It meant something, something about walls and rocks and red and a name that hurt and burned me. I needed it, and the dark man wasn't walking backwards; no, he was holding it closer, letting me almost touch it without touching it.

"Lily of the Valley."

"Oh," I whispered with trembling breath. "Is there more?" I wanted a room filled with it, a valley spread wide, a whole planet-

"Outside," the dark man replied. He stepped back, and I reached for the green stalk – Lily of the Valley – and he pulled it back. It forced me to stand on wobbly legs to pursue my Lily of the Valley. He matched me, backwards step for step.

The voice was pushing back, screaming about the dark man, about the flower, about how much I should hate them. My steps faltered, stumbled, and the air grew hazy.

What was I following?

I couldn't remember.

There was a man – a dark-colored shape lingering at the edge of shadow.

He was holding something.

Something green.

I didn't like that thing.

 _It's poison_ , the voice told me.

Yes, of course. Poison.

 _Destroy it._

Yes, of course.

* * *

"Aria has the smallest damn handwriting," Yusuke complained, squinting at another tiny label. The glass jars were stacked three-high in the subterranean cabinet, and the general gloom of the room didn't help much,

Kurama was bypassing reading entirely. "Open them all – what we need will have a distinctive scent." They didn't have the luxury of time. The cabinet was almost as large as a wardrobe and had been packed with more samples than any one person should have been able to carry. _Aria must have made more stops here than I realized._

There was only a hope – a faint hope – that the redundant nature of firefighters still lingered in Aria's subconscious.

Yusuke opened a wax-sealed jar and the smell of pestilence instantly filled the room. He clamped down the lid in an instant, but the damage iwas done. "I think I'm gonna be sick…" He murmured, setting the jar down on a shelf and leaning over. He took several deep breaths through his mouth as Kurama seized the jar from the shelf.

Faintly, on the tiny adhesive label was written _Death's Odor_ in Aria's loopy scrawl.

" _The fuck is that shit?"_ Yusuke was still just on the verge of heaving up his lunch. The innocuous yellow flower sat alone in the jar, a small amount of nectar pooling at the bottom of the container. _Vita Corde,_ Maggie had renamed it. _Life's Heart._

"Antidote."Kurama gingerly placed the sealed container in his pocket. _Only one chance._

"For _what?!_ " Yusuke cried, giving Kurama a wide berth as they left the storage room at a quick jog. "I'd have to be half-dead – no, _all-dead_ – for me to even think about opening that jar again!" He jabbed his finger in the direction of said container.

Kurama covered it with a protective hand, just to be certain. "Maggie has a poison in her system that's forcing her energy levels to rise. Ordinarily, the effect wears off rather quickly. Something has gone wrong."

Yusuke rolled his eyes. "Ya think?"

Kurama glanced over his shoulder. "I suspect Mishka is involved."

Yusuke stopped dead in his tracks, then started again once he realized Kurama wasn't slowing down. "Are you serious? She's in prison!"

"Yes, because Spirit World prison has always proved to be infallible in the past." Spiteful sarcasm dripped from the fox's tone by the pint. "Whatever the case, I don't think she's in the Palace anymore – there's no sense in staying nearby if she can control a person remotely. We need to remove the toxin to lower Maggie's energy enough to subdue her."

They had reached the bottom of the long stairwell up and out of the dungeaon-like prison when Kurama stopped short. Not expecting the sudden freeze, Yusuke dodged around the fox and stopped on the bottom step. "Yo – Kurama; we got somewhere to be!"

Kurama cast a long look down the dark corridor extending to their left. The hall to the prison cells was tinged with a faint orange glow. "Just a minute, Yusuke. I think we may yet find one more willing set of hands."

* * *

A/N: Part of what made this chapter so late is the sheer _length_ of it in comparison to the 2k I usually put out. I didn't want to break this down into more chapters mostly because I really like how the flow turned out, switching back and forth between Maggie and Kurama made for a better understanding of how she's being manipulated, as well as how her situation is deteriorating.

Plus – for the first time – you get a look at what it's like to have Mishka in your head. I think it should change a lot of people's perception of the would-be-bad-guy from Aria's story.

Many thanks to my lovely reviewers: halem847, Miqila, Black Firelight, roseeyes, mchurch1992, and Mother Ammy!

 **PLEASE REVIEW!**

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	43. Kin, King, Kind

Woden stared at the bare wall with a feeling of deep despair clawing at his chest. _So close… she was so close_. The cold stone held no answers. The ceiling rumbled above his head; groaning in ways that century-old stone should not. The air was thick with dust, making it hard to see into the hall.

Woden didn't need to see to know what was coming. _Who_ was coming from the gloom, from freedom, from Maggie's side.

The Fox.

If the Fox was in the Tombs, then… " _You left her alone!"_ Woden roared, banging hands against the orange barrier with no regard for his own flesh. The Fox was unperturbed, and did not flinch away from his violence. If anything, his face was full of poorly-masked pain.

Woden took a step back from the barrier, and the furious buzzing noise of energy against energy ceased. His breath was short, and he dreaded the knowledge that tumbled, not really a question, from his lips. "You knew. Something is wrong, and you knew it would happen."

The Fox did not attempt to deny it. He held Woden's harsh gaze, but he did not attempt to deny it.

The Mazoku Lord stepped in, putting a hand on the Fox's shoulder. "Hey, that's not true, right?" He didn't sound so sre.

The Fox hesitated before answering. "That is not relevant at this moment."

The Mazoku Lord removed his hand. "Are you serious?" He put his fisted hands on his waist. "That's fucked up, Kurama."

The Fox replied with a burning glare. "The issue is more complicated than you know, Yusuke." His gaze fell to the floor as his rage turned to shame. "I believed that I had the situation under control. Though I now know otherwise, Maggie is the one suffering for my mistake."

Woden's mind raced. Though even with all of his worldly experience he didn't want to believe the conclusion he came to. _She's not like me_ , he thought. _It's not the same_. Woden didn't know how the Wild Hunt had been released, but he knew that Maggie wasn't like that – a release of her powers wouldn't lead to such a somber look on the Fox's face.

So there had to be more.

More than some accident of fate. More than a failed Ward.

Intent.

Woden's knees felt weak. He stepped back shakily and sat heavily on the stone slab that served as his bed in the cell.

"So…" his voice grew in strength, "no an accident, eh?" Woden locked gazes again with the Fox, who shook his head slowly. "You let it happen. You failed."

The Fox's eyes were hard – sharply-cut emeralds – and held no pity for Woden's feelings. He knew he would find no apology, no remorse, nothing warm. Woden would need to make the move towards saving Maggie.

He stood as his strength returned, and his resolution hardened. "Let me make this right. You need to stop her; I can do it."

The Fox observed him with a cool disregard. It seemed the only warmth in his eyes was reserved for Magnolia. "Nyema's death wasn't your fault, but I can't have your death on Magnolia's conscience."

Woden stood barely a nose from the barrier, and the angry energy bussing had resumed. "Would _your_ blood on her hands be any better?" The two men refused to look away from each other. They were competing wills.

The Fox broke first, glancing at the Mazoku Lord. Yusuke held up his hands. "Don't look at me; I'm just the muscle."

The Fox drifted to the side of the cell. For a moment – one heartbreaking moment – Woden thought he might leave. The Fox would leave him there to suffer in silence, to now know what had hurt Maggie. He would be alone.

The Fox tapped the control panel on the side of the cell,and the barrier dissolved into darkness.

"Your help would be greatly appreciated, Woden."

* * *

The dark man wouldn't go away. I just wanted him and his poison to go away.

 _He needs to leave you alone – you should tell him to leave you alone._ The voice tried to guide me, to tell me what to say, but everything was just so fuzzy and turned around. I couldn't keep it straight in my head where he was – he would just vanish and reappear around me and that just wasn't fair of him.

 _Say these words_ – the voice told me, and I did. "There's no use, Jaganshi," I said, and my mouth felt funny around those words. The voice's words were mean, maybe? The dark man stopped moving and disappearing for a moment.

 _Now – hit him hard,_ the voice commanded. I threw my loud noises, and this time I hit him. I had done it! The voice's words had been some good words.

But the dark man didn't stay gone – he was standing where I had pushed him away, but this time instead of two red eyes, red like the red rocks, he had another purple spot on his fuzzy, out of focus face.

I knew instantly that I didn't like that purple spot. I didn't even need the voice to tell me, but it did anyway. But I couldn't ask the voice – I felt a pressure behind my nose, and between my eyes. It was like the worst headache and head cold – like a virus attacking my brain.

I had run out of space in my head – there wasn't enough room for me, and the voice, and the dark man's purple spot. I screamed, throwing out whatever Pain and sound I could. The room mostly collapsed, but that didn't make anything stop.

I was screaming, the voice was screaming, and there was another quiet presence in my head. There wasn't _room_ for that person in my head. I couldn't think, and I couldn't breathe, and I needed space, needed space, couldn't breathe. _"Get out!_ " I finally screamed, pulling at my hair. _I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I'm drowning, I'm drowning_

And then he was gone.

I collapsed to my knees in exhaustion and relief. I could breathe, catch my breath, feel the rocks, red rocks, beneath my hands.

The dark man was close by again. I could hear his feet on the red rocks. They were all my red rocks now. _Red rocks, white rocks, make the pattern, build the wall. Walls fall down, walls fall down, we all fall down…_

"What did she do to you?" the dark man asked me. It didn't really sound like a question; it sounded like sadness. The voice didn't want him that close to me, and definitely didn't want him asking me questions. She punished me for hearing it, made me hurt inside. I cried out, but I just didn't have the energy anymore. I whimpered and cried, and rolled to one side so I couldn't look at the dark man.

"Go away… go away…" I put my hands over my ears so I couldn't hear him. I didn't want him to hurt me, and I didn't want the voice to punish me for listening to his bad words. I wanted to stop hurting. I wanted to stop being afraid.

The dark man left me, so I was okay.

 _Follow him_ , the voice commanded me.

I didn't want to. I wanted the world to be quiet. I didn't like all the things – _everything, everything_ – that I could hear. I just wanted it to be quiet.

 _FOLLOW HIM_ , the voice screamed.

I whined in pain, but I stood.

* * *

It didn't take Hiei long to find Kurama, though only a raised eyebrow was offered at the addition to his company. The Fox offered only "This is Woden," which was more than Hiei would have cared to ask anyway.

"What illusion is she seeing?" Kurama asked instantly after the half-assed introduction.

"It's not an illusion," Hiei clarified curtly. "This is nothing like before."

"What?" Yusuke sounded tired, and personally hurt. "She's doing this on her own?"

"No." Hiei stood very still. He didn't cross his arms, or look away. "Mishka has broken her mind and turned her into a confused and frightened child. Any time she recognized something, Mishka broke that memory." Hiei's locked gaze with Kurama did not waver. "There is no saving Magnolia Thomas; there is only stopping her."

The air was tense enough to taste. "I can't believe that."

Hiei bristled. "Are you questioning me?"

"No – he's being a sentimental puppy." All eyes turned to Genkai as she approached. Her sleeves were soaked with blood but she looked unharmed. _Not her blood._ "He's a sentimental puppy who, somehow, still has some hope of stopping Maggie without giving her as much as a boo-boo. Is that about right?"

"She tried to kill me the last time she saw me," Kurama murmured. "I don't think she'll allow me close enough to subdue her."

"What do you need?" Genkai asked. She sounded dispassionate about the situation, but one look at her face revealed the conflict within. _Just another girl lost. Just another body to bury. Just another sad story._

Kurama withdrew the jar from its safe space in his pocket. "This should aide in controlling her energy spikes. Where we keep her after that has yet to be determined."

Genkai opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut just as quickly. Her head whipped around to the tall, imposing figure of Woden. Kurama's hair stood on end as the faint, faraway cry of a hunting dog rang through the air.

Woden held out an open hand to the Fox. "To me, My Lord." The huge demon's eyes glowed white. As he spoke, a thin, white fog spilled from his lips like cold morning breath before sunrise. "In my Territory, Magnolia must obey my Laws. If she does not successfully hunt, then she becomes the prey. Prey cannot kill the Hunter."

Genkai was not able to conceal her shock. "You were Warded centuries ago."

The Lord of the Wild Hunt flexed a fist experimentally. "Aye, I was. But recently the… the rules were rewritten." He let his hand drop. "Rewritten with love, and trust."

It was hard for him to keep control over the beast that lived inside him – the one that enjoyed killing and suffering. But, with the new ward, that beast was a little more silent. Maybe it had suffered from the loss of his ever-constant companion. Maybe, even that beast could feel regret after all.

" _Shit!"_ Yusuke yelled.

Maggie had appeared, rounding a half-collapsed corner. She leaned heavily against the wall in obvious pain, but still she moved forward. Her attention had been focused on her feet, but as Yusuke yelled she looked up.

 _Oh, blessed stars, what happened to her eyes_ , Woden thought. They were purely black throughout, but still showed her anger, her pain, and her confusion. Her broken arm didn't hang limply like it should, but swung clumsily as she used it.

She lifted her arms, palm out, towards the group, and the air hummed violently.

" _Spirit Gun!"_ Yusuke cried, and the energy shots flew towards Maggie before anyone could stop him.

Maggie flung herself to one side, but the energy bullet still grazed her arm. She didn't seem to notice, and instead snarled at the group. The air buzzed again.

" _idiot!_ " Genkai chastised Yusuke, and he ducked to avoid a hit that never came. "Sorry! Reflex!"

"The jar, Fox!" Woden demanded, holding out his hand again. "Trust me," he added, more softly.

Kurama hesitated. He wanted to believe that he could be the one to save Maggie; that he didn't need the others, that he had this under control.

But he didn't.

Hadn't he been the one to seek out Woden's assistance? He had known, deep in the most logical of places, that it couldn't be him. Maggie's mind had been too twisted against him to get remotely close. He had always known he would have to fight this madness with a different kind of love.

Kurama gave Woden the jar.

The two men shared a look of mutual understanding.

Dark streaks of rich brown ran through Woden's hair, but the color did not completely overtake the white. No horns sprouted from his temples. No archers appeared in the mist. Woden sighed heavily, and turned. "Whatever happens, do not interfere unless you wish to become prey also."

Not used to inaction, the group shifted uncomfortably, but did not follow.

Woden could feel the Hunt brimming under his skin – _say the words, say the words_ – but not so angry as before. Before, when the Ward had been broken, the Hunt was ready to destroy the world. Now, the Hunt was willing to work with him – it had a little hand in the world again, no longer locked away in the darkest regions of his soul.

He looked at Maggie, who fluctuated between glancing at him to covering her ears or eyes and whimpering softly, and it made him angry. It made the Hunt angry. This was something that had been _his_ – she had been a success; something broken he had helped make whole. He and Nyema both had invested their time, their gifts… their love.

Woden stood before the much smaller woman, looking down at her prone figure. She was huddled on the ground, hands over her ears, muttering quietly to herself. His chest constricted painfully.

 _I don't want to do this._ Woden drew a knife from his belt, and held it just above the level of his waist. _But I must._ He kicked out at Maggie – gently – with a foot. Just enough to get her attention.

Woden held her wrathful gaze with his most level expression. "Hunt, or be Hunted," he declared.

And so his Territory was claimed.

* * *

The air was clearer than it had been in hours. I could hear the voice whispering in the back of my mind, but her angry words didn't pierce me quite the same way.

The tall man stood close – very close – and he held a knife in a way that said he knew how to use it very well. I moved back a little on the rock as he stared down at me – he had kicked my foot and I didn't like it. His face was clear – clear in a way that other faces hadn't been – and he looked… his expression made my chest hurt. I didn't want him looking at me like that.

"Hunt, or be Hunted," he declared.

A shiver ran through me like someone had poured cold water on me. I didn't like it at all, and I tried to throw the angry noise at him to make him go away.

Nothing happened. My chest got very tight and I got very scared. I wanted to run – the tall man was going to hurt me, he had told me so!

 _Don't run!_ The voice yelled.

Why not? It seemed like a good idea to run from a bad thing.

 _Run, and you will be hunted. No moving backwards._

I didn't like that at all. I tensed my legs to run anyway.

 _DO NOT MOVE BACKWARDS_ , the voice screamed so loud it burst through the clean-air feeling that had made it less painful. My throat was raw from screaming and crying, and all that came out was a sad whimper. I couldn't make sounds like a normal person anymore.

 _You must hunt him_ , the voice told me. _I will help you_.

I didn't understand how she could help me – I hurt too much all over, even though I wasn't supposed to hurt, she had said – what had happened?

The tall man hadn't moved any closer, and he hadn't moved away. He stood like an old, weathered tree; waiting. He was waiting – for me? I could feel the painful music sitting under my skin, but I couldn't force it out anymore. I shifted uncomfortably, as if that would help.

The tall man took one step closer, and I threw a rock at him. He swatted it out of the air like it was nothing, and stared down at me still. I didn't like the way he was looking at me – it made my insides hurt in a twisty way. He was twisting me up inside and I didn't know why.

His deep-set eyes stared into my soul, like he was trying to communicate with just his eyes. I couldn't speak that language, and couldn't say that I didn't understand. I was afraid to speak. I was afraid.

 _Fear is danger_ , the voice reminded me. _You must destroy the dangerous things_.

Yes.

Of course.

I gathered the best of my strength, grabbed a sharp rock from the ground, and launched myself at the tall man. He swatted down at me with a massive hand but missed, and I tucked myself into a ball as I flew through the air to end up behind him. I jabbed at him with the pointy rock and he dodged it.

He moved so smoothly – like a bolt of silk flowing over steel – I almost wanted to stop to be impressed. His movements were both beautiful and dangerous. I didn't like it, but inside I was… there wasn't a word for the feeling that I knew.

Looking at his face made my insides hurt, so I tried again to hurt him with the rock. This time, when he swung a fist at me it hit me. The force behind his arms was next to unbelievable. I changed direction mid-air from the force and felt every bone rattle.

I bounced – bodies shouldn't bounce – off of the opposite wall. It forced all of the air out of me, and scared me.

 _Don't be scared_ , the voice told me. _You can kill him, he has a weakness._

"Come on, Little Shit," the tall man interrupted the voice without knowing it. I don't know how I knew it, but that name was familiar. It was… me? I didn't like that other name, but I knew it was a part of how this man knew me.

I moved forward when the voice commanded, and the tall man brandished his knife. It looked sharp. I didn't like it.

I darted left when the voice commanded, and I feinted right when the voice commanded. I stopped in my tracks when the voice commanded, and when the moment was just right, I said the words the voice had told me to say.

"Woden?" I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Woden, I don't want to die."

The tall man stopped short.

He dropped the knife.

 _The knife!_ The voice urged me on – the weapon of my salvation was close.

I grabbed the knife and – in the swiftest motion – plunged it into the tall man's stomach.

Only a soft grunt passed his lips. He frowned, looking down at me. I felt so small, in that moment. He was tall. Over eight feet tall. Fists the size of bowling balls unclenched, and his open hands reached for me. I flinched back, but my hands were still clamped around the handle of the knife and I couldn't relax them enough to let go.

I fell backwards onto my butt, and the tall man sank with me – down to his knees – which prevented me from pulling the knife out of his gut when I fell. It was oddly smooth – I couldn't believe that the blade protruding from his body didn't hurt at all, but when he looked at me I knew he wasn't thinking about the knife.

He held the sides of my face with both hands – tenderly, in a way that broke my heart – and stroked my cheeks with his thumbs. "Oh, Little One, ye poor fool." His eyes were soft, in a way that I didn't think that flesh could be. And then they hardened. He gripped my chin harshly and squeezed it. My mouth opened in reflex to avoid strain, and with his now-free hand he reached into a pocket.

Something popped open and – _stars above what is that smell_ – the unmistakable scent of putrifaction filled the air. The odor of death. _Vita corde_ , a lingering piece of memory claimed. Where had that come from?

 _No! No, no, no!_ The voice screamed. _Don't let him-_

It was too late. The tall man took his little container and upended the entire thing into my mouth, before clamping it shut around the foul material.

* * *

It was too easy.

It was too easy to allow himself to react to her tactics.

It was too easy to let her take the knife, to get close, and to stab him.

It was too easy to force the plant and its horrible nectar in her mouth as she was so close.

It was too easy.

So it should have come as no surprise that her struggling did not cease, not did the ever-present force of her energies against his. They were contained by his territory's Rule, but he still felt the force, like a violent blow felt through thick padding.

Nothing had happened.

 _Nothing happened_.

The plant had done _nothing_.

Woden rocked back on his heels and let Maggie go. She rolled over onto her side and spat the flower out onto the stone floor. She heaved – nectar and stomach bile – until her stomach was empty.

Space and time had slowed to a crawl, and with agonizing slowness he pulled the knife out of his gut. _Minor damage; easily recoverable_ the Hunt informed him, _hardly a fatal blow._ Woden sighed, pressing a hand over the oozing wound.

The heavy mist from the Hunt was concealing his predicament from the waiting others but he would have to make some sort of decision soon. _She failed to kill us_ , the Hunt reminded him _, she is Prey now_.

No, Magnolia would never be Prey. No amount of pressure from the Hunt would make him kill family again. Magnolia was his family – his and Nyema's.

Nyema.

He could almost see her face. She had the most ancient eyes – eyes that understood his choices, his pain, and his history. She had stayed by his side to keep him level, and he had never wavered from the path she gave him.

Nyema had taught him many things about what it was like to be clear-headed and thoughtful. Nyema had taught him to enjoy the peace of quiet moments, and dedication to purpose. Nyema had been his partner. Nyema had been his great love.

A thought occurred to Woden and he leaned forward again, reaching for Magnolia's prone form on the ground. She was groaning in pain and suffering and didn't notice his approach. She was not Prey, and never would be, because she was his family. She was kin, blood be damned.

Woden grabbed the much smaller woman by the arms and she gasped. Her power flared up against his, and even through the bounds of his Territory he could feel the resonance in his bones. "Magnolia, you _listen to me right now_!" he yelled, shaking her once for emphasis. "You are ours, _ours,_ Little One! You belong to me, and you belong to Nyema. No matter what you're seeing, or hearing, or remembering, ye are _ours_. Those feelings aren't yours because _I say they aren't_."

Maggie was in horrible pain – he could see it written all over her body – and he knew that pain. He remembered the confusion and hate and anger but above all else, the pain. A gasping sob crawled from her throat piteously, but he did not release her. He needed to hold her firmly for what was to come.

Woden tried to show her with his eyes that he understood, and spoke as clearly as he was able through the emotion in his voice. "Little One, you are our kin; blood be damned."

Nyema of the Wards was a clever woman, and a gifted teacher. She had told him the secrets behind her work – a powerful belief in the ability to exact change, and believe in the abilities of others to change. Sometimes, the ability to change required a little push. Sometimes, I required an outright fundamental change of being.

Nyema had taught him the runes, and their power, and the ways that meaning and use could overlap.

Nyema had taught him the power of being.

Nyema had taught him to Ward.

And now, he could hear her voice, whispering as she had always done in the night. _For a protective ward, a permanent seal is required_. Her voice was soothing, level, and calm. She had always been calm, even in the face of her own demise. _Take up the knife, and mark the flesh._

He had to release one of her arms to grab the bloody knife from the ground, and she instantly flailed with it; clawing and scratching and beating at any surface she could find. Woden's hand trembled for only a moment as he held his knife over Magnolia's left forearm. She writhed like a snake in his grasp, clawing at his arm with her right hand – it flopped, as the upper arm was broken – but he held her left arm firmly.

"As my kin I name ye, I _Name_ you, and bring you into a clan that should have been." She shuddered in his grasp, whimpering and yelling, and begging. Woden's chest was tight – it pained him beyond measure to hurt her like this – but he continued.

"I Name ye, _Verdandi,_ that you never be beholden to the past." Nyema's voice drifted through his memory. A picture of her, sitting next to him at a campfire, drawing symbols in the dirt with a stick. _Gebo – the gift, the sacrifice, and fair exchange._

She _screamed_ , but it wasn't Magnolia's voice. It was the voice of a child, a suffering child, a murdered child. _I murdered children before_ , Woden knew. _Not this child._

"I Name ye, _Verdandi; always-becoming."_ His voice was stronger now, and his hand didn't shake. _Ingwaz – growth, change._ More memories of symbols in the dirt, a warm smile from Nyema. Woden carved the rune deep into Maggie's flesh through the first marks so the symbols overlapped.

She was fighting harder, and suddenly stopped. She took a deep, shuddering breath and Woden paused. Had she surrendered? She spoke in a steady voice, but her face was still afraid. "You can't have her, Hunter." Her voice was hollow, like she was reading from a script. "Try to take her and I will break her so completely that she can _never_ be fixed."

 _She does not belong to that thing_ , the Hunt snarled. _If she is not our Prey, then she is not that person's Prey either. She must be Hunter's-kin._ Woden agreed.

He placed the knife against her skin again, over the first two marks. "I Name ye, _Verdandi, destiny-woven and world-summoner."_ This last mark was the hardest, as Maggie gasped in surprise, quietly, and painfully, and then went slack in his grasp. Woden's hand hesitated. Was it too late? She hung limply in his fist as he drew the sharp blade through already-bloodied flesh for the last time.

The Hunt growled in the back of his mind, and Nyema encouraged him to finish the ward. _Aelghiz – protection, the shield._ Nyema had saved it for last in his lessons. _This is the seal, this is closing the door on intruders, and locking with a powerful key._

"By clan Right… I Name thee; _Verdandi_."

The ward was complete.

Quietly, in the back of Maggie's mind, a door was closed.

* * *

Kurama smoothed back the hair from Maggie's forehead as she slept. She had been asleep for more than a week, and though the healers had encouraged him that it was just a part of the healing process, he could not wait for her to wake.

It had been worse than heartbreak to see Woden carry her limp body from the heavy mist. With blood streaming down both arms, and her head tipped back so far, she had looked dead. Inside his chest, right where his heart should be, an empty maw had opened and stolen all the life from his limbs.

"She lives. The madness is banished." Woden's words hadn't brought the warmth back into his body, but it stopped the world from spinning. Kurama had reached for her, but Woden had pulled Maggie's body back. "I donnae think it wise, M'Lord."

Hot rage filled his chest, but he shoved it down with an incredible force of will. He did _not_ like to share. "And why would that be?"

Woden hesitated. The color was starting to fade from his hair, and it aged him. He looked to be growing more tired, weary in posture and expression. "She's not-" his words caught in his chest somewhere, tightly. "She is not the same."

Kurama could feel it, sitting close at her bedside. It was subtle, and Woden had struggled to explain its source. "Where once she was Magnolia, now she is Magnolia Verdandi." The clan ward, as Woden had described it, had healed into a dark scar swiftly with the help of the Palace healers. It contained a small amount of power, fluctuating with Maggie's power, feeling out the room as she slept.

She slept, and deeply.

"M'Lord," Woden's rumbling voice was low at his shoulder. "Lord Yomi has asked to visit."

Woden had been a semi-constant presence in the room. He did not linger long is Kurama was nearby. He couldn't place if it was from anger, or regret, that Woden wouldn't speak to him at any length. Until Maggie opened her eyes he really didn't care.

Kurama glanced at Woden, who stood stiffly by the door. "Now?"

The larger demon nodded. "Aye"

Kurama stood slowly, reluctantly. "I don't know what you are, to her, precisely." He chuckled darkly. "Or what I am, for that matter." Kurama released the hand he had been holding, setting it back on the clean sheets. "But I know you keep her safe when I can't be by her side, and for that you have my gratitude."

Woden murmured something deep in his chest in a language Kurama didn't recognize. "She is like…" His eyes grew hard. "Verdandi is my kin." He turned blazing eyes on Kurama. "I will stay with her."

Kurama left the room without looking back.

The horned demon Lord was waiting right outside the door, arms clasped behind his back, with his usual calm smile plastered on his face. Never one to betray his thoughts, the blind demon usually dealt in subtleties and subterfuge. Kurama had no patience for his games.

"Lord Yomi, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Kurama's form was tense and impatient. "Surely you take no joy in Magnolia's condition."

"Of course not," Yomi assured him. "I have come to offer Gandara's services in her recovery."

"This is… unexpected." Kurama's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What services would these be?"

"Aside from the best medicine the Makai has to offer, I also have a facility that is safe against her… strengths, shall we say." Yomi's smile broadened by a fraction.

More than three steps ahead, it seemed that Yomi had been playing an entirely different game. "It would be foolish of me to believe this is charity."

Yomi didn't usually scoff, but he came close. "Surely you aren't that stupid."

Kurama scowled. "Not enough to believe that your facility constructed in a day; no, you started building when Magnolia made her first appearance at Court." To have something prepared especially to contain Maggie – resistant to sound attacks – that took time.

Yomi's smile was beyond irritating. "Naturally."

As Kurama was formulating a response that did not include rage and violence, the world lurched out of focus as a flare of energy barraged his senses.

" _Fox!"_ The alarm was evident in Woden's call – Kurama didn't need to see the fear in his eyes. He rushed back into the room, and Yomi did not follow.

The large doors overlooking a balcony in the room had been flung open, and their breezy curtains billowed in the wind. Kurama approached the door slowly, passing Woden as he stood guard.

Maggie stood on the guardrail over the balcony, feet trembling slightly to maintain her balance. Her arms were spread wide, just short of windmilling. Her body was pulsing rapidly with Song – it was strong enough to warp the air around her, and make her form fuzzy around the edges. It alternated in short and long waves, seemingly without rhythm or discernable pattern.

 _Something is wrong_. "Maggie…?" Kurama asked slowly, taking small steps towards her.

"It's crumbling, can you feel it?" She called back, her voice listing as harshly as her balance. Her hair whipped in the wind, concealing her face. Her breathing was fast, shaking her chest violently.

"What's crumbling, Maggie?"

"The _whole world_ – walls fall down, walls fall down, we all fall down…" she muttered, clenching tight fists to her chest. "Can't you feel it?"

"Why don't you come down and tell me about it?" Kurama asked, stepping closer.

" _No!_ " She yelled, flinging out a hand to stop him. "You need to _feel it_ , feel it to find it, find it to mend it-" She turned to lock eyes with Kurama, and her manic expression grew at once confused. Then flat. Then furious. " _Get out!_ " she screamed, and a wave of sound crashed against him. He slid backwards, through the open balcony doors back into the Palace.

Woden stepped in front of him and advanced towards Maggie, who was still yelling at the top of her lungs. He spoke low and softly, like to a frightened wild animal. "He's gone, Verdandi," he said soothingly. "Come down, eh?"

Kurama could just vaguely see her form through the translucent curtains. _"He's a liar!_ " she was screaming, pointing over Woden's shoulder at him. " _It's not true! He said- he said-"_ Maggie ran out of energy as Woden took her gesticulating hand in his massive paw.

"Aye, Verdandi. Can ye help me with my lunch? I think there's too much for me." He pulled her down from the balcony and she didn't resist. As Woden re-entered the room with the small form of Magnolia, Kurama retreated from the room. The door clicking shut felt like a final nail in a coffin.

Woden had been right. She wasn't the same.

"She seems well." Yomi commented. Of course he hadn't left.

"How could you know?" Kurama murmured, still grasping the doorknob. "How could you know that she would need isolation?" He spun, accusing the blind Lord.

Yomi shrugged. "How could I not? She herself has stated this was not a fate she wanted. She is unbalanced, and there was little doubt in my mind that eventually, be it this year or a hundred years from now, her human mind would come into conflict with her demonic needs."

Kurama was standing on the last inch of his patience. Everyone had been expecting Maggie to fail, and almost no one had offered her assistance, or kindness. She had needed to fight for every ounce of respect from the Makai, and had paid for it ten times over in blood. They had been waiting, expecting her to fail.

They had never wanted her to belong.

"Will you take my offer?" Yomi asked. "I will not offer again."

His pride said no instantly, but he wanted what would be best for Maggie. Was isolation the best? Woden would stay with her, there was no doubt, but would he be able to get close again? Yomi didn't offer his services as charity and Kurama worried that, so close to his influence, Yomi would be able to manipulate her; turn her into a weapon.

 _But she is not safe here_. He knew that. He also knew that the rest of the Palace wasn't safe around her either. _I have to do what's best_. What was best was too hard. What was best hurt too much. What was best came at the cost of his pride.

He looked at Yomi, still waiting for an answer.

 _It's for the best._

"Kurama!" A coarse, familiar voice cut through the silence hanging in the hall.

Kurama blinked, eyes wide with surprise as he turned to look. "Kuwabara? What are you doing here?"

The tall man was panting lightly, as though having run a long distance. He was pushing a somewhat dilapidated wheelchair. A foreign-looking woman of sturdy build sat in the wheelchair.

"Hello," she greeted in heavily-accented Japanese. "I am Tkadlec. I have come to fix what was broken."

* * *

 _ **Elsewhere…**_

White hair glimmered in near-complete darkness as Mishka fumbled her way down the dark corridor. Her lavender eyes were fully dilated, seeking light. She reached the end of the hall, and pressed against the old, old wood door whose material was on the verge of dissolving.

It creaked inwards, and what little light lingered in the hallway spilled into the room. "She's finished," Mishka called, her words falling against the back of a form that stood in the center of the empty space.

Dark eyes stayed locked on the shadows. A coarse, unused voice crackled into life. "One bird, one stone." He spun, and something writhed in the darkness at his motion. "The Lion has proved to be beyond our reach."

The room shifted and churned – shadows given too much motion, too much life. His voice slithered like acid against the walls.

" _Bring me the Star_."

* * *

 **To be continued… in WEAVER'S HANDS**

I did think a lot about ending Maggie's story in a happy way, but eventually decided to leave it as originally planned. I think it's important to recognize that not all plans always end well, and real suffering can result in a botched plan. Maggie and Kurama aren't overtly affectionate people, and in some way this may have really hurt them.

These last parts also featured a lot of voices in people's heads – Mishka in Maggie's head, Kurama with the deeper parts of Youko's desires, and Woden with both the Hunt and the memory of Nyema. I think we all have a voice or two – our conscience, parents' voices, loved ones – and it's not always clear which voices help us.

Some final notes, for your entertainment; there have been some comments in the past that Aria should not have been the one to try to help Maggie because their Conversion experiences were vastly different, and that's somewhat true. My three OC women are incredibly different, but are part of a three-fold description of personalities I was trying to represent. **Aria** is **who we wish we were** (confident, brushes off difficulty/emotional pain fairly easy, strong-willed and brave), **Maggie** is **who we fear we are** (uncertain, anxious, stand-offish, vulnerable to bad influences), and **June** (in Weaver's Hands), is **who we try to become** (strong, but worked hard for it. Accepts the consequences for her actions. Stands up for those who need protecting). Because of this, it makes sense that **Maggie seeks comfort in Aria** , but that **June** will end up bringing them together.

Many thanks to my reviewers from the last chapter: Mother Ammy, roseeyes, mchurch1992, and NotSignedIn (guest)!

 **So… did you like Pressed Between Pages?**

 **Please leave me a final review!**


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